


Good Enough is Good Enough

by paulah_GJ



Series: Full Circle [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2019-12-07 20:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 56,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulah_GJ/pseuds/paulah_GJ
Summary: Part 5 of the Full Circle series. Illya and Napoleon try to get their relationship back on track. When they each seem to want something different, it makes things very difficult. Especially when Illya is teamed up with an extremely handsome Latin man. Napoleon is not happy and, when he takes over UNCLE New York for awhile, he decides to do something about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're ba-ack!! This story needs some real editing, so I can't promise how quickly the updates will come. I'm hoping it will be somewhat regular. Well, as regular as I usually am.

_Good Enough is Good Enough_ by Sonata Arctica

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMXOENvt1UE

 

It was not hard - to choose all the words that I should  
put in your mouth  
in my own play of shadows  
Between lines, word for word, honey.  
  
See who I am?  
Out where nothing's forgiven  
A small yet very loud part of me is still screaming after you...  
  
Good enough was good enough for me  
as it should always be  
You broke my heart when it was weak  
Guess you were not meant for me...  
  
I had a dream you broke - with your twisted ways  
Still leaving me? Please take your time, but go away  
Don’t flash that light anymore, honey...  
  
The seasons change...  
I was the summer to your heart  
the winter lured you away more than once, now I know:  
I am free  
  
Good enough was good enough for me  
as it should always be  
You broke my heart and still I grieve  
How can you be over me?  
  
I always thought we’d made it, found a way to live together  
You saved the best for last and now it's too late  
I count the hours of the day that  
seems to last forever  
  
Words through the door  
a glance from a broken window  
I found your key from the floor  
and my heart, suddenly, cut off clean  
  
Good enough was good enough for me  
as it should always be  
You broke my heart and still I grieve,  
How can you be over me?  
  
Good enough was good enough for me  
as it should always be  
You spread a tale of lies about me  
And I believed it, my heart's got a leak...

                                                                                                                                          


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon Solo pulled his collar up and adjusted the brim of his hat so the rain would run off over the shoulders of his trench coat. Even with the rain he felt happy. At peace. Fresh. Alive.  With brisk strides he crossed the sidewalk from the taxi to the apartment building door held opened so regally by the doorman. He nodded with a pleasant smile as he passed the man. It felt good to be home.

 

After crossing the lobby, Napoleon removed his coat while waiting for the elevator. He shook the water off and draped it over the crook of his arm. When the doors opened he stood to the side as two lovely ladies stepped out. Then he stepped in and rode up to his floor alone.  It seemed to take no time at all and Napoleon stepped through his own door. The immaculate apartment filled him with warmth and comfort. He put his hat and coat away.

 

"Illya!" Napoleon called out. "Illya?"

 

The blond haired man entered the living room from the library where he loved spending his time. "You're home early today."

 

The warm tones with the mixed blend of accents charmed Napoleon, even on his worst days. As he kicked off his shoes he replied, "You're not disappointed I hope."

 

"No," Illya responded. "Not at all. I always miss you during the day when you're gone.”

 

Napoleon walked up to him and wrapped his arms tenderly around the slender form. Illya had lost a few pounds from his ordeal with the psychiatric hospital but was gaining them back again. He was still in great muscular form though. "Well I'm home now." He ran his hand up Illya's back over the crisp white shirt. "And you feel great."

 

"I do," Illya confirmed happily. "I'm putting everything that happened with Kopf and Waverly behind me. I never want to set one foot through U.N.C.L.E.'s door again."

 

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear that," Napoleon said and leaned down to kiss the side of Illya's face. Then he moved his head lower and kissed his way over to Illya's lips.

 

"Mmmm.... Nobody kisses like you do," Illya moaned into Napoleon's mouth. "I love it."

 

Napoleon tugged at the shirt tucked into Illya's waistband till it came free and then unbuttoned it as they kissed. By the time he was done they were in the bedroom and his own shirt hung open, slipping from his shoulders.

 

The next thing Napoleon knew he was leaning over Illya's backside pumping his hips against the smooth, willing rear end. The soft moans and gasps escaping Illya's throat begged him for more.

 

Napoleon's heart beat faster. His mind sped up and each moment seemed to bloom in exquisite detail. The heat of Illya's skin against his sent tingles all through his body. A thin sheen of sweat coated Napoleon's face and chest. He could feel the flush building in his face.

 

"Oh god Illya. Oh my god," Napoleon groaned as he came and came and came.

 

Illya let out a strained moan of pleasure following Napoleon into orgasm.

 

Carefully, Napoleon shifted his balance onto one arm and lowered himself down next to Illya's heaving body. He reached for Illya to pull him closer. They were both damp and sticky from their exertions.

 

"I love you Napoleon," Illya cooed once he had enough air to speak. "I love you so much."

 

Napoleon felt the flutter of emotion through his chest at the words. Those were the only words he longed to hear from Illya. In all the years they'd been together all he ever wanted was to hear those simple words.

 

"Yes. I know," he whispered back.

 

Something felt wrong about that. Napoleon felt the awkwardness of his own response. It wasn't what he really wanted to say but that was all that would come out of his mouth.

 

Illya reached up and brushed the black strands of hair from Napoleon's eyes. "I love you," he whispered and kissed Napoleon's forehead and then the tip of his nose. "I love you," he whispered as his lips moved toward Napoleon's mouth.

 

In his gut Napoleon knew he should say something but it was like it was stuck and couldn't rise up and come out. "Illya...."

 

Their lips locked in an embrace. The kiss was long, deep, and sweet.

 

"Illya," he tried to say again.

 

"I love you Napoleon," his lover said so earnestly. Illya would never ask but the blue eyes pleaded to hear the same from him.

 

Napoleon startled as the door crashed open and three THRUSH operatives entered the room firing their weapons. He rolled over Illya, dragging them both to the floor with the bed between them and their assailants. With his mind in overdrive Napoleon couldn't make sense of it because he knew the three were dead. He was positive they were dead.

 

<><><><><><><><><><>

 

Another loud crash and Napoleon jerked to full alertness. He blinked several times and gasped for air. Looking around the empty room he knew he was alone. A dream.  Just another damned dream.  A flash of light from a thunderstorm  illuminated the room, casting shadows onto the wall of the raindrops clinging to the window.

 

With a shaky hand Napoleon wiped the sweat from his face. The pillows and sheets were damp from perspiration made worse by the humidity. He hoped the superintendent would have the air conditioning fixed by the end of the day.

 

Reluctantly Napoleon looked at the clock. He still had an hour before he needed to get up but even if he closed his eyes he knew he could not get back to sleep.

 

With aching solitude, Napoleon turned on the radio to listen to the news as he got up. Between the crackles of static from the lightning the announcer talked about the weather and the overnight crimes. They chatted about what was to come on the morning talk show and specials of their advertisers. It was all boring to him these days.

 

Feeling old, Napoleon rubbed his drenched face.   Maybe a shower would help.

 

He wasn't looking forward to work today. Illya was supposed to return to light duty. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Napoleon couldn't understand why Illya would want to come back after all that happened. It was Waverly's fault that Illya had almost been lobotomized and turned into a permanent vegetable.  He shuddered at how close it had come.  And yet Illya still wanted to work for Waverly.  Napoleon couldn't understand it at all. 

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Soft even breathing filled Illya's bedroom in his small utilitarian apartment in Greenwich Village. It faltered then changed as the alarm clock on the side table jangled the demand to awaken. Illya groaned as he rolled over and turned it off. He rubbed his face and then stared balefully at the clock. No matter how he willed it, though, the time didn’t change.

 

With a sigh, he sat up on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. It still didn’t feel right, although it was better than the baldness he’d sported just a few weeks before. He felt lucky the only outcome of Kopf’s attempt at a frontal lobotomy was a bald head. Not even that anymore. His hair, which grew at alarming speed, was already almost two inches long. Not much shorter than when he first started working for the U.N.C.L.E.

 

Speaking of which, time to get ready to go in for work. He didn’t usually feel reluctant to get back after an extended medical leave. Of course, usually he wasn’t on the outs with his partner, best friend, and almost lover at the same time. He hadn’t seen Napoleon for two weeks and, honestly, didn't want to see him today.

 

The problem started the day Illya had finally became mobile again after Kopf’s abduction. He walked a bit wobbly the first time he actually walked into the dining room to demand some breakfast, but he managed it without falling over. A proud moment, pathetically enough.

 

Napoleon had exited the kitchen, the breakfast he usually served Illya in bed each morning in hand. "Oh! You’re up!” Napoleon said with a delighted smile.

 

Illya had smiled in return. “It appears so. Is that for me?” he asked hopefully.

 

“It is. Sit down and I’ll set it up for you.”

 

Illya sat at the table more than willing to allow Napoleon to wait on him. Might as well take advantage of it. Wouldn’t last for long. “Looks delicious.”

 

“But of course!” Napoleon said in a bad French accent. He took a covered plate off the tray and set it in front of Illya. A glass of orange juice, cup of coffee, and some silverware rolled in a cloth napkin joined it. “Only the best for the guest at Chez Solo.”

 

Illya chuckled as he lifted the lid to find a feast of French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. He sniffed appreciatively. “Are you trying to turn me into a decadent American?”

 

Napoleon snorted. “With your bottomless stomach it would be like shooting ducks in a barrel.”

 

Illya raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Instead he dug in.

 

Napoleon sat across from him and . . . stared. He looked like a man who had something to say but didn’t know how.

 

Illya paused in his eating for only a second. No sense letting this good food get cold to try to get something out of his partner. Napoleon would say something when he was ready and not before.

 

When the other man cleared his throat, Illya stopped eating and placed his fork and knife down onto the plate. He pushed it away and gave his friend his attention. He folded his hands on the table in front of him. “What’s wrong, Napoleon?”

 

“You should quit.”

 

Illya hesitated, not quite sure what Napoleon meant. Quit what? Eating? Sleeping? Walking around?  “Care to elaborate?”

 

“UNCLE. You should quit UNCLE.”

 

Illya fell back into his chair, mouth dropped open in shock. “Whatever for?”

 

Napoleon leaned forward as if to make up the difference in the space Illya just put between them. “For what happened with Kopf."

 

Illya’s heart skipped a beat, the memories Kopf had brought up surging to the surface for a few seconds. He quickly wrapped them in a tight ball and shoved them back into the dungeons of his mind. “It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”

 

Napoleon shook his head sharply. “No. Not like this.”

 

Illya watched him warily. Had Napoleon found out about his partner’s true past? Illya kept all that from him not only because he hated to talk about it, but also because he didn’t want his friend to think him a monster. He forced an amused look onto his face. “You’re right. This was easier than most THRUSH torture.”

 

Illya jumped in surprise when Napoleon slammed a fist onto the tabletop. “That’s not the point! He knew where you were! He knew the whole time!”

 

“Who knew? What the hell are you going on about?”

 

“Waverly!” The chair fell over as Napoleon jumped out of it.   He stalked to the bay window overlooking the city. “Waverly knew where you were.” No shouting this time. Quieter. More dangerous.

 

Illya stared at his friend’s back for a long minute. Could it be true? “Why would he do that?”

 

Napoleon turned, his demeanor back to the usual mild, friendly coworker. Illya was one of the few who knew just how much of a lie that was. Its return at this moment made him nervous. Napoleon leaned against the window and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Who knows why that bastard does what he does? All I know is that it’s his fault.”

 

“Did he order Kopf to do that?” If he had . . . Illya didn’t want to think about it. Purposely putting him in that situation was too close to what Sarkov did to him all those years ago.

 

But, no. It didn’t add up. Why would Waverly keep him out of the clutches of UNCLE shrinks for so long just to hand him over to Kopf in the worst way ever?  He wouldn't do that.  Would he? No. Illya didn’t believe it. There would be no point and no advantage to the agency.  Even so-- “If he did know, I’m sure he had a good reason,” Illya said, completing his thoughts out loud while trying to convince himself as much as his partner the truth of it.

 

Napoleon snorted in derision. “I’m sure he did. I doubt he took your best interests into account, however. You have to quit before his reasons kill you.”

 

Illya’s turn to snort. “Quit being melodramatic, Napoleon. I’m an agent of the U.N.C.L.E. That organization's best interests are my best interests.  We are all expendable.  You know that.”

 

Napoleon stared at him, then his expression screwed up with disgust. “When are you going to learn how to stop behaving like such a good little Soviet?”

 

Illya’s expression hardened. “I am Soviet, Napoleon. I used to think that didn’t matter to you. Congratulations. You fooled me.” He threw his napkin onto the table. “I wouldn’t want to contaminate your apartment with my stupid Soviet sensibilities. I’m going home.”

 

Which was exactly what he did. Napoleon had tried to talk him out of it, but Illya didn’t want to hear it. He might have stopped to listen if the stupid American apologized for the slur upon Illya’s country of origin. There were many things wrong with his country, but it was not up to an arrogant American to point them out.

 

Illya had stormed out without listening to another word. Napoleon had come over three times since then but was only interested in trying to convince him to quit. He didn’t understand that even if Illya wanted to quit, he couldn’t. Not that he wanted to.

 

He had no idea what to expect today from his American partner. No idea what Napoleon would to try next. Whatever it was, Illya knew he just had to wait Napoleon out. Bide his time until his American friend dropped the subject and they could get back to their partnership and friendship. He hoped it would happen that way at any rate. He sighed as he started to get ready to go.

 

“Damn you, Napoleon.”  


	3. Chapter 3

Dapperly dressed, as always the epitome of a true English gentleman, Alexander Waverly had his car stop outside the newsstand where the vendor brought over his morning paper. They exchanged pleasantries and Waverly paid him with a few coins for the paper and the usual tip for the curbside service. He felt a good day beginning.

 

During the commute to work, the driver expertly easing through the bustle of the morning traffic, Waverly perused the paper for the latest news. International stories followed by the city and then, after that, the society pages and finally sports. Usually by the time he reached the office the majority of the paper was done, his expert eye picking up on everything.

 

Waverly gave the illusion of being a bit absent minded at times, perhaps even oblivious, but inside he was shrewd and totally focused. His lighthearted manner belied how seriously his mind viewed the world and everything, and everyone, in it.

 

The last few months had been very hard on him. He made grueling decisions morally and, sometimes, ethically ambiguous. Along with the everyday stresses of dealing with THRUSH there was the ultimate problem of trying to figure out how to best handle the delicate situation with one of his top agents. Illya Kuryakin, man who was one of the great experiments of UNCLE in their endeavor to be the first truly worldwide international organization for law and enforcement.

 

It was with some sense of pride that Waverly subtly boasted of welcoming an agent of the Soyuz Sovetskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik, or as more commonly known to the English speaking world, the USSR. When the dark secret of Illya Kuryakin's past was brought to his attention he feared that could be the end of the first steps UNCLE had taken in the direction of a truly global law enforcement agency. To a lesser degree, but more important to him, Waverly worried about losing one of UNCLE's best assets. Keeping much of this private and out of UNCLE's records would be his next course of action.

 

"We're here Mr. Waverly," the driver said, breaking his employer's musings. "Shall I pick you up at the usual time?"

 

"No. I'll be lunching at the Russian Tea Room today," he replied. "There will be two of us. The reservation is for 11:45."

 

"I'll be here," the driver replied and pulled up to the doorway of the tailor shop. He hopped out and ran around to open the door for Waverly.

 

After stepping from the car Waverly positioned his hat on his graying head of hair and tucked the perfectly refolded paper under his arm. He gave a nod to his driver before heading down the steps to Del Floria's Tailor shop.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Twenty minutes later, Illya Kuryakin stepped into Del Floria’s, dreading the first necessary evil of the day. At the sign-in desk he received the expected order to report to the medical facility. It wasn't something he wanted to do but there would be no getting around it. It was routine to have an agent undergo a physical on return to duty after any substantial injury. He sullenly marched his way through the halls hoping the examination would be short and simple.

 

The thought of the medical section made him even more nervous now, a side effect of his time with Kopf. He had to reason with his fight or flight instinct to overcome his reluctance. He imagined Antonio's warm strong voice telling him things would be all right. It saddened him that he no longer had the man's comforting words in person. It bothered him that was what it took to control himself on this.  In recent years, he'd had Napoleon to help him with this sort of thing.  He didn't anymore.  He could not depend on his friend's support anymore.  Napoleon had decided Illya needed to quit UNCLE, expecting the Russian to fall into line like one of his women.  That was the moment Illya realized how big of a mistake he's making by sleeping with his partner.  

 

In spite of missing the Italian man he'd grown so close to, Illya was glad to be back in New York. The little apartment that he'd turned into his home might have seemed spartan for an American's tastes but it suited him well and was much larger than he would have if he were still in the Soviet Union. Even the familiar corridors of the U.N.C.L.E. was like a home.

 

"Illya!" a familiar voice called out.

 

The Russian stopped and turned around. Mark Slate trotted over to him.

 

"Hey. I didn't know you were back today!" he said in a cheery tone.

 

"Apparently I am," Illya replied. "I was going mix crazy at home," he tried joking.

 

"Uh... That's stir crazy..." Mark replied, obviously trying not to grin and embarrass his friend. "I know the feeling though," he admitted. "First day?" he asked taking note of their location so close to the medical section.

 

"Yes. It's a little redundant but rules must be obeyed," Illya disparaged.

 

Mark nudged him in the ribs. "It will be a breeze. You'll be in the field before you know it."

 

Illya took in a deep breath and let it go slowly. "I hope so. I'm getting restless for real action." He paused in their walking and looked up at Mark. "Say. What happened to Burke? I didn't see his name on the sign-in board this morning."

 

Illya wasn't eager to see the man and his pandering to Napoleon for attention but that was what made the absence of his name more meaningful. Personally, he would have preferred to take the man out in a dark alley somewhere, but if THRUSH got rid of him, Illya would be just as happy.

 

"Didn't you hear?" Mark said. "He asked for a transfer to Europe. He's working in France now."

 

"Oh?" Illya replied with a neutral expression. "A shame. He was growing into a good agent." As much as he despised Burke, he and Saunders did get the job done when they had to. He couldn't say the news disappointed him, though.

 

"Something about the guy rubs me the wrong way," Mark stated. "Funny thing is I know how hard he tries. He has good intentions."

 

Illya shrugged. "Better to let sleeping dogs get run over."

 

Mark laughed. He wondered just how serious Illya was when he made such gaffs.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

In his massive office, also sometimes used as a conference room, Waverly settled into his day. He eyed the stack of files and papers to his right waiting for his review. It never ended and never seemed to get any smaller. No sooner was one crisis averted then the next one bloomed in its place.

 

Waverly sat back with a sigh, looking over the never-ending work. He had no illusion that only he was the capable of handling the situations. For years he'd groomed Napoleon Solo to one day be THE candidate as his replacement. Soon would come a test for the man as Waverly planned for an upcoming family reunion he expected to attend.

 

Before he dropped the news on his protégé, there was something of high priority that had to be done before Alexander Waverly could dive into the day's numerous decisions. He picked up the phone and dialed the Medical Section to speak to Dr. Cruz.

 

<><><><><><><><><><>

 

The handsome young Latino doctor pulled a white lab coat on over his starched white shirt. He adjusted the collar as he draped a stethoscope around his neck. Then he tucked the end into the breast pocket, making sure it hung just so. He slipped a plastic pocket protector into the pocket on the other side along with a pen and pencil. An untidy doctor was a sloppy one and a sloppy doctor killed patients. Satisfied that he was ready, he headed out of the lounge to the reception desk to begin.

 

"Good morning Dr. Cruz," Nurse Leon said. "How are you today?"

 

"Good. Yourself?" he asked in return as he reached for the file on top of the pile.

 

"Great. My girlfriends and I went to see a picture last night. It wasn't spectacular but we had a nice time on the town," she replied cheerily.

 

He gave her a pleasant smile. "That's nice. What do I have first today?"

 

She glanced at her schedule. "RTD. Kuryakin."

 

"Okay. Set up in room 3. Standard screens," he ordered for the Return To Duty examinations.

 

"Mr. Kuryakin isn't here yet," Nurse Leon informed him.

 

Cruz checked his watch. "Give him another five and then the usual procedure."

 

Paula Leon smiled. "Yes Doctor. Call security and lock down the exits."

 

Doctor Cruz laughed. Calling security was something they'd done on more than one occasion. Locking down the exits was a bit of an exaggeration.

 

He was about to leave when the phone on the reception desk rang. Cruz decided to wait in case it was Kuryakin trying to get out of the appointment by calling in sick or something.

 

Paula took the call. "Medical Reception. Paula Leon speaking." She glanced up at Cruz indicating that this might involve him. "Yes Mr. Waverly. No I haven't seen him yet but his case was assigned to Dr. Cruz. Would you like to speak with him? He's right here."

 

Cruz leaned across the counter to take the receiver when she held it out to him.

 

"Dr. Cruz here. What can I do for you Mr. Waverly?"

 

Nurse Leon watched the doctor listening to the head of UNCLE New York.

 

Cruz finally took in a deep breath to speak again. "Yes. As long as he shows up that shouldn't be a problem." He listened a moment. "He's supposed to be here now but if I don't see him in five minutes I'll call security."

 

Paula covered her mouth and giggled a little.

 

"I'll tell him. Yes sir." he said and offered her the receiver to hang it up again. "He just wants me to be finished by 11:30. Kuryakin is supposed to meet with him on the dot." he explained. "So if he doesn't show up in the next...."

She pointed behind him down the hallway. "No need. Here he comes now."

 

They both raised eyebrows in astonishment. Neither of them expected Kuryakin to show up of his own volition.


	4. Chapter 4

With trepidation Napoleon Solo entered UNCLE looking forward to seeing Illya again. When he saw his partner’s name on the sign-in board he felt a tingle inside at the thought of seeing the man. He didn't like being angry with Illya or having Illya angry with him. They had too much between them to let their minor differences tear them apart.

 

After rushing to the shared office where he hoped to see Illya, he was disappointed to find it empty. He wondered if Illya moved to a different office space before remembering the mandatory medical. That was also a let down but reassuring at the same time. The delay gave him time to formulate what he would say when they finally saw each other again.

 

As Napoleon pondered his plan he decided that taking Illya to lunch might be a good way of opening things up between them again. With a smile, he started to call Illya’s favorite area Italian restaurant, then frowned as he thought about the big oaf, Antonio, grunting and puffing as he fucked Illya in the ass. Then he remembered how much Illya seemed to be enjoying it. He dropped the phone back into the cradle as though it burned him.

 

Not Italian, then. Wouldn’t want to remind Illya of Vicente. The local deli? No. Too crowded and no privacy to talk. There was an Indian place Illya liked. It was on the edge of the distance one could go for a lunch hour, but doable. It might be a good idea to get as far away from any other UNCLE personnel as possible, anyway. He called and asked them to reserve their usual table for one o’clock. Illya would definitely be out of Medical by then.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

The tests took most of the morning. Illya sighed in relief when Dr. Cruz finally signed the paper certifying the Russian agent for the field once again. He was already tired and hungry and he hadn’t even started his workday yet.

 

“I am signing this,” said Cruz with a glance at his patient. “But only barely. Your weight is a little low.”

 

“I tend to lose weight after an injury,” Illya reminded him.

 

“I know. That’s the only reason I’m signing this.” He held the paper just out of Illya’s reach. “I want your assurance you will work on gaining back those ten pounds.”

 

The nurse stifled a giggle and Illya shot her an amused glance.

 

Cruz turned his dark gaze on her. “Did I say something funny, Miss Leon?”

 

She allowed the smile to bloom. “Have you seen Illya eat?” Her eyes widened as she realized she’d just said that in front of a dangerous Section 2 agent whose bad side she never wanted to get on. “Umm, no offense, Illya.”

 

Illya’s eyes twinkled as he sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid my appetite is rather legendary within these hallowed walls.”

 

Cruz smiled and handed him the certification. “You can take this up to Waverly yourself. He wants you to be in his office by eleven-thirty. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get dressed and get up there.”

 

Illya snatched the paper before Cruz changed his mind. “Thank you, Doctor.” He turned a slight smile on Nurse Leon. “Nurse.”

 

She blushed. “My pleasure.” Her blush deepened at the realization of how that could be taken. “I have other patients to attend to if you’re finished with me, Doctor.” At his nod, she fled.

 

Cruz snickered. “I think she’s smitten with you.”

 

Illya shrugged. “I doubt it. At any rate, I now only have thirteen minutes to get dressed and make it to Mr. Waverly’s office.” He raised an eyebrow and glanced meaningfully at the door.

 

“Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Cruz scribbled in Illya’s file as he hurried to his next patient.

 

Illya donned his clothes quickly and arrived at Mr. Waverly’s office with two minutes to spare. “I understand he wishes to see me,” he told Lisa Rogers, the secretary guarding Waverly’s office door.

 

“Go on in. He’s waiting for you.”

 

Illya entered Waverly’s domain and sat in his usual chair. He noted the absence of Napoleon. Probably not a mission, then. He often went on solo missions, but not usually the day he returned to active field duty. Waverly preferred a newly returned agent to work with a partner for their first mission. “You asked to see me, sir?”

 

“Oh, yes, Mr. uh, Kuryakin.” Waverly set his pipe aside and stood. “No time to sit and chat. Our reservation is for 11:45.” He set his hat upon his head and picked up his umbrella.

 

“Reservation?” Illya asked as he hopped up and hurried after his boss.

 

“Yes. At the Russian Tea Room. You do like that restaurant, I believe.”

 

“Uh, yes, sir. I do.” Illya accompanied Waverly down to the garage and into the waiting limo. “Are we meeting someone there?” he asked, thinking maybe the Old Man had a meeting with a Russian and needed a translator. Although Waverly spoke Russian almost as well as Illya himself, Illya knew the sly old fox liked to let people think otherwise. If people thought someone didn’t speak the language, they would often talk about sensitive things in front of them. Why else would he take one of his agents to lunch?

 

“No, Mr. Kuryakin. It will just be the two of us. I want to discuss something with you.” He turned his watery blue gaze onto his agent. “But not yet,” he added to forestall more questions.

 

Illya nodded and settled back into the soft leather seat as he watched New York move by. They would be a bit late for their reservation but he had no doubt the restaurant would hold it for them. Alexander Waverly was known as an important man to the better restaurants in the city. They didn’t know why, but they knew the type of company he kept and that was enough.

 

As expected, the hostess didn’t even blink when they were twenty minutes late. She took them back and showed them into a small private room. She placed the menus onto the table and, in a thick accent, told them of the daily specials. After taking their drink orders, she left.

 

Illya glanced to his superior and suppressed a sigh when he saw Waverly looking over the menu. Obviously he wasn’t ready to say what this was all about yet. Illya knew it was no use trying to push him into speaking up until he was ready, so he decided now was as good a time as any to start gaining that weight Cruz was so concerned about.

 

During the meal they chatted about his renewed field status, some of the missions going on at the moment, and present world events. Illya relaxed into the conversation even though he was dying of curiosity as to the purpose of this lunch. He began to wonder if there even was a point to it other than eating when it came time to order dessert and Waverly still hadn’t brought up anything of real importance.

 

As they finished their entrees the waiter returned with a gold cart laden with desserts. “Would you gentlemen care for dessert?”

 

“Just tea for me, please,” said Waverly. He gave his agent a critical once-over. “You should have some dessert, Mr. Kuryakin. You’ve lost weight again,” he chided.

 

Illya cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I have.” He glanced at the dessert cart, sweet tooth tingling with excitement. “I’ll have the chocolate mousse.”

 

“Good choice,” the waiter said. He set it in front of Illya along with a dessert spoon. “Coffee or tea for you, as well?”

 

“Coffee please.”

 

The waiter rattled off with the cart and returned two minutes later with two cups of the rich hot beverages.

After he left, Waverly settled back with his tea and took a sip. “I wish to speak with you about what happened with Dr. Kopf.”

 

Illya choked on his coffee, spilling some of it onto the snowy white table cloth. “What did you want to know?” he asked, dabbing at the coffee, spreading the brown color more than cleaning it.

 

Waverly shook his head. “Your report was as complete and concise as usual,” he said. “I have no questions. However, I . . . “ He paused and cleared his throat.

 

Illya stared at him in alarm. Mr. Waverly looked nervous, something Illya had never seen happen. “Sir . . .” Illya began.

 

Waverly held up a hand to stop him. “Mr. Kuryakin, I suspected Dr. Kopf might try something.”

 

Illya’s eyes widened in surprise. Napoleon had said as much and Illya had defended their superior. It looked as though Napoleon was right.

 

“I didn’t order him to abduct you. What I did was block him at every turn. I’ve known doctors like Kopf before. He truly cared about his patients and I knew he would do whatever he must to help a patient no matter what the consequences to himself. I knew if I didn’t allow him to do his job within the confines of headquarters, he would find a way to do so outside of it.”

 

“So you allowed him to abduct me?” Illya held his anger at bay. He respected and trusted Alexander Waverly in a way he never had another superior in his life. He couldn’t believe the man did so for no good reason.

 

Waverly nodded. “Once I discovered where he’d taken you, I found someone on the inside to keep an eye on you and let me know what was going on.”

 

Illya thought about the people he’d seen while in Kopf’s clutches. He couldn’t remember them well, but one stood out. She’d treated him with such kindness and concern. “There was a nurse.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I ever knew her name.”

 

“You don’t need to know her name now but, yes, that was her,” Waverly agreed

 

“May I ask why?”

 

Waverly sipped his tea as he gathered his thoughts. Finally he nodded as if coming to a decision. “I read your diary.”

 

Illya’s heart dropped into his stomach. He only knew of one diary. But he had hidden that at Anya and Sergei’s dacha. There was no way for Waverly to get it. He must mean something else. “What diary?”

 

“The diary you kept while under the thumb of Sarkov. It was found in a dacha that belongs to a family which I believe you know quite well. It found its way into my hands.  Thank God, I must say.  Other hands would have been disasterous.”

 

The nausea that accompanied fear threatened to bring up the wonderful meal Illya had just eaten. He should have burned that damned thing! He knew it back then but just hadn’t been able to do so. At the time he told himself it was so he could use it to show the world what Sarkov was really like. He knew that was stupid. The world didn’t care. The Soviets certainly didn’t care. He knew it now and he certainly knew it then. Why, then, had he not burned the damned thing?

 

Because that diary had kept him sane. Uncle Alexei had helped, of course, but Illya couldn’t open up to him. Doing so would have been far too dangerous for them both. He had to always keep in mind that Uncle Alexei also filled the role of Major Andreov.  Illya never wanted to make his adopted uncle choose between the two. 

 

So he wrote his thoughts and feelings down in that damnable diary. He wrote it in third person in a childish attempt to distance himself from everything that happened. It must have worked at least somewhat because Illya believed himself to be mostly stable. About as stable as any Section 2 agent, at any rate. Still, he doubted Mr. Waverly would see it that way.

 

He looked down at his mousse, running the spoon through the creaminess but not eating any. “You’re sending me back to the Soviet Union, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say sorry for ending this on a cliffhanger, but we're not. As my favorite candy commercial says, sorry, not sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya learns his fate because of the diary.

Napoleon sat at his desk despondently drumming his fingers and staring at the phone.

 

_Should I call and cancel? Illya never misses lunch if he can help it. Where the hell is he?_

 

The phone, surprisingly enough, didn't answer his silent questions. He stared some more. Finally, with time running out, Napoleon picked up the receiver and called the medical section.

 

"Solo. Section 2. Is Mr. Kuryakin about done with his physical?" he asked. His heart sank a bit as he heard the reply. "Oh? He left when?" He moistened his lips as he listened. "I see. Alright then." He paused a moment in thought. "No. No message. I'll hunt him down myself. Thanks Miss...? Miss Leon. Yes. Thank you."

 

Napoleon hung up and wondered where Illya could have gone. Perhaps the lab?

 

His next phone call brought the same disappointing results. It was soon obvious that Illya wasn't in the building. He resumed drumming his fingers on the desk and propped his chin on his free hand.

 

At a standstill, he stared out the open door into the hall. In his mind he imagined Illya walking through. Starched, pressed white shirt. Black tie, belt, and shoes. Grey slacks that fit so perfect that the well-defined gluteus maximus muscles drew his attention whenever Illya turned his back.

 

A sound broke Napoleon's day dreaming.

 

"I said ahem," Sarah said.

 

Napoleon blinked a couple times and then focused on Sarah McCallum from the Secretarial pool. She stood in the doorway where he hadn't seen her due to his meanderings.

 

"Oh," he said, surprised. A charming smile automatically grew across his face. "Now how could I possibly have missed you standing there?"

 

She melted in that smile. Slinking up to the desk, she perched herself on the edge and leaned seductively toward him, presenting her breasts prominently so he couldn't possibly miss them.

 

"Well, you looked like you were thinking about something else," she cooed.

 

Napoleon leaned back, letting his eyes roam up and down her lithe body. "Business, but now that you are here that is impossible. What can I do for you?" he asked in a suggestive tone of double entendre.

 

"You still owe me a dinner," she reminded him. "You promised when I did all that filing for you last month. And that bit of research on the side you had me do."

 

He bit his lower lip. There were several outstanding dates he had to make good on. He still had time to make it to his lunch reservation too. "Now that you mention it," he said, "do you like Indian?"

 

"Mmmm. The spicier the better," she purred.

 

Napoleon stood up enthusiastically and pulled on his jacket. As he straightened his cuffs he said, "Lets go."

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Alexander Waverly sat back and took a long sip of his Earl Grey tea. The blend of Indian and Ceylon teas with the acidic orange bite was one of his favorites.

 

Illya waited nervously for the word. Deportation. He didn't know what scared him more: waiting to hear that he was to go back to Russia or actually facing his superiors back in the motherland.

 

"I won't lie to you, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly began calmly. "If my counterparts in UNCLE ever found out what I have come to learn, my answer would be entirely different. Sending you back to the Soviet Union would not be a choice but a singular option. I was quite perplexed by the content of the translation."

 

"Translation?" Illya repeated. "Perhaps there were some errors made," he suggested.

 

"No," Waverly replied confidently. "I had an acquaintance of mine do it. He is an expert in translating documents and such from the Eastern Slavic languages. Have no fear. He is totally trustworthy and the contents will remain confidential."

 

Illya nodded, not entirely sure where this conversation was going. All he could do was wait for more information.

 

"As I said, I was quite perplexed at what to do after I read the diary. To be completely honest, I considered removing you from active field work. I even considered sending you for total psychiatric evaluation in the medical section."

 

The noise of blood rushing through his ears almost deafened him, but Illya forced himself to remain neutral on the outside and listen.

 

Waverly began packing a pipe. Anyone watching would think he was contented with his meal and enjoying a relaxed moment. "I knew that would result in the loss of one of my best agents even if the results came back with a perfect score, so to speak," He looked up at Illya, focusing eye to eye. "We both know that wouldn't happen, don't we Mr. Kuryakin."

 

Swallowing hard, Illya could only be honest at this point. Lying would not alter Waverly's decisions. The man was shrewd and calculating in spite of his projected appearance. Illya nodded in acceptance of the facts.

 

"I took into consideration your performance records from not only your time in New York but also your time in Europe. I needed more to understand how stable you actually are. But routing that through official channels was out of the question, as you must surely understand."

 

"Yes sir. I do," Illya replied, finally having found his voice again.

 

"I believe I made the right decisions with your best interests at heart," Waverly stated, leaving no room for contradictions. "I will admit, though, I did not realize the extent to which Dr. Kopf would go when this first began. In a way, you helped root out an unstable danger to the well being of other UNCLE agents who would have been put under his care in the future."

 

Waverly studied Illya's face, searching for recognition of his endeavors to keep UNCLE and all of its members safe.

 

Illya finally put down his spoon, leaving his dessert in a stirred slurry unrecognizable from the airy mousse he'd been served. "The diary?" he asked softly, knowing the damaging material it contained.

 

"Have no fear, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly assured him. "It is not within UNCLE's walls. It is safely tucked away and no one but you, I and the translator, whom I trust implicitly, know its contents."

 

Illya ran all of the things that transpired through his mind. What Waverly had done, all the things he said, each decision he made, had all been for the best. The easiest thing to do would have been to send Illya back to Russia with the book. His Soviet superiors would see the things in the diary and probably lock him away forever, never to be seen or heard from again. Worse than that, they could send him to a prison camp in Siberia, where even escape meant certain death in the wilderness. Illya, strangely enough, felt Waverly was going out of his way to look after and keep him in New York and UNCLE.

 

"I... I am grateful Mr. Waverly. You are very generous." he said, still shocked and shaken.

 

"Nonsense, Mr. Kuryakin. I'm being very selfish on UNCLE's behalf. We need you. Your skills as an agent against THRUSH are invaluable." Waverly signaled the waitress. "Could we have the check, please?"

 

Illya felt that a major turn of luck had just occurred for him.


	6. Chapter 6

Still unsettled after the luncheon revelations, Illya looked forward to seeing and talking to Napoleon.

 

He walked into their office only to find it empty, no jacket hanging over the back of the chair to keep it from wrinkling. Usually Napoleon only wore it to Waverly's office and since the head of UNCLE had been with him at lunch that wasn't a possibility. That meant that Napoleon was out of the building and Illya could only sit down and wait for him to return.

 

Illya grabbed the file from the top of Napoleon’s in-basket. Might as well get some work done while waiting for his partner to return. He’d just started going over the report inside when his intercom buzzed.

 

He didn’t take his eyes from the words he read as he toggled the device. “Yes?”

 

“Dr. Webber is here to see you,” the department secretary announced.

 

Illya thought about telling Frank he was too busy but, really, he needed to break things off with the man. He had needed it at the time but even though he liked Frank, after Antonio, it just wasn’t going to satisfy him anymore. He’d rather go without than go back to meaningless sex, at least on a regular basis.

 

That wasn’t fair to Frank, either. The best thing for both of them would be to cut the man loose. Now was as good as any for the discussion. “Send him in, please,” he finally said.

 

He set the folder aside just as the door slid open to admit Frank. He made sure he wore a pleasant expression on his face before looking up at his visitor. He indicated for Frank to sit. “Hi. To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked his friend and sometimes sex partner.

 

Frank looked uncomfortable as he settled into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Um, well, actually, Illya . . . .” He fidgeted in his seat.

 

Illya frowned in concern. “Something wrong downstairs?” He wracked his brains to see if he had anything going in the lab that could be problematic. It was doubtful since he'd been off work and out of the building so much recently. He came up with nothing.

 

“Oh, no, no!” Frank assured him, looking him in the eyes for the first time since entering the office. He dropped his gaze almost immediately. “Ummm. . . .” He shifted again. “I don’t really know how to say this.”

 

Illya raised an eyebrow. “I find that just saying it is the best way.”

 

Frank regarded him and chewed on his bottom lip. He stilled suddenly, his expression suggesting he’d come to a decision. “You’re right. It’s better to just rip the bandaid off rather than take it off slowly.” He straightened. “I’ve met someone.”

 

Illya’s spy senses went on automatic alert. Those words usually didn’t bode well, at least in his experience. “Someone from THRUSH?”

 

Frank’s eyes widened and he waved his hands. “No! That’s not what I meant.” His chuckle held a nervous edge. “I’m making a mess of this.”

 

Illya sat back and relaxed in the hopes it would make his friend feel more at ease. “Frank, considering how much we’ve shared in the past, I would hope you’d be over any fear you might have had about me. Just tell me what’s on your mind.” He grinned. “I promise not to kill you or hurt you in any way.”

 

Frank laughed, face tinged pink. “Okay, okay. I meant that I met a man.”

 

“I take it this man is not someone dangerous.”

 

Frank became dewy-eyed. “Only to my heart.”

 

The light went on in Illya’s mind. “Ahhh! You are in love with him, then.”

 

The other man’s head dropped and he looked at Illya from under the hair across his forehead. “I’m not sure but I think I am.”

 

Illya sighed in relief. He wouldn’t have to risk any problems that might have arisen from breaking things off with Frank. “Who’s the lucky man? Do I know him?”

 

“What? Oh. No.” He finally relaxed and smiled. “He’s a chemical engineer. He works for a large firm here in Manhattan.”

 

Illya nodded. “Have you had him vetted yet?” UNCLE required employees have any new friendships checked out to make sure they weren’t THRUSH or some other nefarious person wanting to get an “in” with UNCLE. It didn’t have to be done for someone just known in passing, but if the relationship advanced to anything beyond mere acquaintance, it was a necessary evil.

 

Frank grimaced. “I’ve filled out the paperwork but they’re a little backed up in that department so they haven’t done it yet. It’s getting hard not to let our relationship go to the next level but I can’t until they’ve done the background check.”

 

“Would you like for me to do it?” Illya offered. “I probably won’t be given any major field assignments for a few days so I should have the time.”

 

“You’d do that for me?” Frank asked in surprise.

 

“Of course. I owe you at least that.”

 

Confusion furrowed Frank’s brow. “You don’t owe me anything.”

 

“You were there for me when I needed a friend. I appreciate that.”

 

“You’re okay with this, then?”

 

Illya smiled. “I’m not only okay with it, I’m happy for you. You know as well as I do I can’t have any real commitments. I’m glad we were able to become friends. . . ” His smile widened. “. . . especially with the benefits. But I never expected you to ignore any opportunities for love that might come your way.”

 

Frank reached across the desk, grabbed Illya’s hand, and squeezed it gently. “Thanks, Illya. You don’t know how much that means to me. I was so afraid I’d lose you as a friend.”

 

“Perish the thought,” Illya replied. “I can always find sex partners. It’s much harder to find a trusted friend.” He slid a pad of paper and pen in front of Frank. “Now, give me your new love’s particulars and I’ll see to it he gets vetted quickly.”

 

Frank wrote down the information and then practically floated out of the office.

 

Illya chuckled to himself as he watched him go. He was genuinely happy for the man. Frank deserved to have someone to love him.

 

<><><><><><><>

 

Sarah hung onto Napoleon’s arm through the gunmetal corridors of UNCLE, smiling cattily at every woman they passed.

 

Napoleon held back from rolling his eyes at her behavior but since they were going the same way, he allowed it. It wasn’t going to hurt his reputation with the ladies. If anything, they would make themselves more available to him in the hopes of wiping the smirk off Sarah’s face.

 

He had an ulterior motive, too, petty as it was. He hoped Illya would be in the office and see that Napoleon had moved on and that he would no longer be chasing after his illusive and uncooperative partner. If that made his former lover jealous, so much the better.

 

He wasn’t ready for his own spike of jealousy when Frank exited the office Napoleon shared with Illya. A goofy smile was on the man’s face. Napoleon longed to knock it off with his fist. He refrained—barely.

 

He gave Frank a cool nod as he passed. He stopped in front of the office door and waited for it to open before placing a gentle kiss on Sarah’s lips. “Thank you for a lovely lunch, my dear,” he cooed. “Perhaps we can take up where we left off at dinner tonight?”

 

She melted in his arms. “It’s a date, Napoleon.”

 

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

 

Illya had a front row seat to the entire exchange. He slammed the green-eyed monster away before it had a chance to raise its ugly head. He had no right to feel that way. He chose to end things with Napoleon. What did he expect? For his friend to suddenly become a monk? Besides being unrealistic and unfair, it was laughable.

By the time Napoleon turned and entered the office, Illya had a tight rein on his emotions. “I see you had a good lunch,” he said with a touch of amusement.

 

Napoleon’s smile didn’t hold the warmth towards him it used to. Illya felt a pang of loss but didn’t let it show.

 

“I had planned to go with you but you never bothered to show up.”

 

Illya grimaced in apology. “Mr. Waverly wanted me to accompany him to The Russian Tea Room for lunch.”

 

Napoleon’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

 

“To explain why he let Dr. Kopf take me,” Illya said with a matter-of-factness he didn’t feel. He pulled the file back in front of him and opened it.

 

“So he did allow that bastard to take you,” Napoleon growled. “I told you.”

 

Illya shrugged. “He had his reasons.”

 

Napoleon moved to Illya’s side and spun the chair around until they faced each other. “No excuse!” he said fiercely, voice trembling with an emotion Illya couldn’t quite name. His expression softened and he reached out to cup Illya’s face. “There’s no excuse for what that bastard did to you and absolutely no good excuse for Waverly to let him do it.”

 

The emotion Napoleon showed surprised Illya. Illya placed his hand over Napoleon’s but didn’t try to move it. “His reasons were valid. But thank you for your concern,” he said softly.

 

Napoleon shook his head, frustration in his eyes. “You’re impossible, Illya. And you’re wrong. I’m going to prove it to you.” He moved away and plopped into his chair. He turned away, pulled a folder in front of him, and went back to work.

 

Illya unobtrusively watched his partner for a few minutes. He missed Napoleon. Missed the camaraderie they once enjoyed. Even, if he was honest, missed the sex. He wondered if he should reconsider his decision to not continue the physical relationship he’d had with Napoleon. What he’d had with his partner was just a shadow of his experience with Antonio, but it was still better than his trysts with Frank.

 

The question he had to answer before he could even entertain such a notion was, could he accept Napoleon’s philandering? He knew first-hand the likelihood his friend would be able to stay away from women was so low he could consider it zero. Last time he’d expected fidelity. This time he would know better. Illya thought that if he also played the field, he wouldn’t feel used. Since Napoleon wouldn’t consider being on the bottom, Illya knew he’d need to go find sex elsewhere for those times he felt the need to be the aggressor.

 

Maybe, just maybe, it would work.


	7. Chapter 7

Napoleon stared at the report without really seeing it. His mind buzzed with Illya’s revelation about his lunch date with Waverly. He grit his teeth as he thought about Illya’s easy acceptance of what their superior did. Napoleon knew a lot of that kind of attitude on Illya’s part came from his upbringing and training prior to UNCLE but it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Somehow, some way, he had to figure out a way to convince Illya he needed to quit UNCLE before the old man got him killed.

                       

<><><><><><><><><>

 

After a long silence passed between them Illya decided he couldn't concentrate on the array of reports he needed to read to bring himself up to speed. He also knew that no one expected him to know everything the first day back. Glancing up at the monotonously ticking clock he realized how quickly the day flew by.

 

Looking over at Napoleon, Illya felt that annoying tickle in his gut that he'd felt in Italy. That strange gnawing sensation that urged him to get closer to someone. He never recognized it before his time with Antonio and yet there it was again as he watched his partner. Illya deliberately looked away and swallowed hard to try and force down the desire to speak to the man. It was no use. The feelings going through him wouldn't go away.

 

Tick.

 

Tick.

 

Tick.

 

Soon it would be too late.

 

Tick.

 

Tick.

 

Tick.

 

Illya pushed the unread paper away. No use.

 

"Ahem..." Illya cleared his throat, barely audible.

 

Napoleon looked up.

 

Illya said nothing. The air was thick with anticipation on his part.

 

Napoleon waited a moment and then asked, "Did you want something?"  The voice Napoleon used was warm and neutral. Illya thought perhaps even inviting conversation without confrontation.

 

"The day is almost done," he said and then regretted the awkward way of opening the dialogue.

 

Napoleon looked up at the clock and then his watch to confirm the hour. "Yes it is. Thank you." He paused, waiting for more from Illya, but that seemed to be it.

 

Finally Illya sat up straight. "That wasn't quite what I wanted to say."

 

Napoleon remained calm. "Oh?" He waited again.

 

"Well... I wondered... was wondering..." Illya hesitated.

 

If this was Illya wanting to apologize, Napoleon knew how hard that was for the man and for once didn't push things. Forcing the issue seemed to cause more friction between them than desired lately.

 

"Wondering?" Napoleon asked to encourage Illya to keep talking.

 

Illya decided that he might as well say it and get it over with. "I was wondering if we could talk."

 

"Talk?" Napoleon replied. "We are."

 

"Well... yes. But not here. This is not something we should talk about here in UNCLE."

 

"What is it about?" Napoleon asked.

 

Illya paused and ran a hand over the side of his face, hoping he hadn't opened a can of worms for himself. "Us. You and me. This is not something we can discuss here."

 

Napoleon felt his heart skip a beat but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. "All right. Where and when do you have in mind?"

 

Illya hadn't thought that far ahead. He shook his head. "I don't know. Tonight? But it has to be private."

 

Napoleon half smiled but not enough to scare Illya off. "Okay," he said, remaining calm. "Would you care for dinner? Maybe my place. Steaks? Roast Chicken?"

 

Illya nodded. "Fine. Whatever you want to eat is okay with me. Don't you have a date with ...?" He couldn't remember her name.

 

Napoleon waved a hand. "Later," he said. "I can always make it up to her."

 

Illya nodded, pleased and encouraged that Napoleon would cancel a date with a woman to be with him. "Okay. Six-thirty?"

 

"I'll see you then," Napoleon said with a smile.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Illya went home and showered. The day had been a whirlwind of revelations that wouldn't cease running through his head. He stood, a hand leaning against the shower stall, his head under the streaming water to clear his thoughts.

 

The diary. The most shocking thing to hear about. It went against all his training to keep it and then hide it instead of destroying the thing. Maybe it was an irrational thought to save it, hoping that all the horrors within its pages would be trapped there and forever gone from his mind. Not maybe. It was an irrational thought. That was something he couldn't afford to leave in anyone else's hands. Not even Waverly's.

 

Waverly's arguments and reasons for allowing Kopf to abduct Illya for analyzing made sense. If he was going to suffer a breakdown or go mad it would probably be best if he didn't do it at UNCLE. He hoped Waverly was satisfied that would not happen now.  Either way, he knew the old man would not be so careless as to keep the diary at UNCLE. It must be at his private residence.

 

Waverly would be gone for almost a month on his trip. His house would be empty. The housekeeper would only be there periodically. A perfect time to check the safe for the document. Dare he? Careful thought would have to go into it.

 

Illya shook the water from his hair, still short and bookish, making him look much younger than his years. Waverly approved of the hairstyle but it felt so unnatural to Illya himself.

 

What was the worst case scenario if he was caught?  A return to the USSR.  Waverly didn't want to do that, though, or he'd done it by now.  Still, although Illya trusted the old man quite a bit, he fully trusted few people.  Two that he could think of and one of those, Napoleon, was on shaky ground.  Even if Waverly didn't us the diary against him now, it would forever be held over Illya's head, always in the back of his mind.  A bomb hanging over him that could explode at any given second for any perceived slight or unacceptable mistake.  He had to get it back.  He had no choice. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The smell of chicken filled the kitchen. It was a simple preparation of lemon and herbs so it wouldn't take long to cook. The potatoes were drained and staying warm in their pot for the quick transformation into a warm potato salad with an herb vinaigrette to complement the roast chicken. A fast toasting of garlic bread would round out a tasty and simple meal.

 

Napoleon wiped his fingers on the small towel tucked into his apron string and decided to set the table. He would keep things casual while reflecting the good manners he'd been brought up with. He set out a pitcher of ice water on the sideboard and mini salt and pepper shakers at each place setting.

 

This wasn't a romantic dinner like he would do for a date. In fact, he never brought his women home with him, preferring fancy restaurants and a romp in bed in a hotel or even their place.

 

Illya was a friend, a very good friend in the past, and Napoleon wanted to keep it that way. The music Napoleon chose for the mood was casual, light, and something that both of them liked. Just like the mango-peach sorbet with vanilla wafer cookies he had in mind for dessert.

 

It was all meant to be light and pleasant. If Illya wanted to talk about their relationship, then Napoleon was going to make sure it was easy for him.

 

Napoleon never gave Sarah a thought about the broken date. He was considerate enough to send her a message that something had come up and he would make it up to her. Mentally he added it to the half dozen pending promised dates in the queue. He couldn't help it. Illya would always trump everyone else on his dance card and very often did.

 

After checking the clock, Napoleon took a last look around. Everything was in perfect order and it was time to take the chicken out and let it rest to absorb the juices. The slivered carrot and radish was waiting their turn to go into the warm potato salad and the baguette slices were ready to go under the broiler.

 

Timing was perfect as the doorman buzzed.

 

Napoleon went to the panel and pressed the intercom. "Yes?"

 

"Mr. Kuryakin has arrived, Mr. Solo. He's on his way up."

 

"Thank you. If anyone else stops by tonight give my apologies and send them on their way. We're going to be working, possibly late."

 

"Certainly. Have a good evening, sir," he said.

 

About a minute later the knock at the door announced Illya's arrival.

 

Illya waited for him on the other side of the door. The Russian tried to hide his nervousness but Napoleon knew him far too well to not notice. He didn't mention it as he let his friend into his home. “Come on in,” Napoleon said with a friendly smile. He hoped his own apprehension wasn't showing but didn't count on it. Not with Illya. Still, they both kept up the pretense.

 

“Good evening, Napoleon.” Illya entered the apartment and sniffed appreciatively. “Chicken?” he said as he hung his coat on the coat tree.

 

Napoleon chuckled. “With a nose like that are you sure you're not part bloodhound?”

 

Illya seemed to relax a little at their usual banter. “It's possible. The Soviets have always engaged in some of the oddest experiments. Not as odd as THRUSH, perhaps, but unusual nonetheless.”

 

They sat on the couch where a highball glass of scotch and a larger glass of vodka waited for the two men to partake in their delights. Although the vodka had no ice, condensation on the glass suggested it was well chilled.

 

Illya picked it up and took a healthy swig. His eyes widened. “You brought out the good stuff for me?”

 

“Of course. Besides, no one else drinks that swill.” Napoleon sipped from his own glass and savored the smoky flavor of old scotch before swallowing it. “If you drank scotch, maybe you'd be more likely to drink it in a more civilized manner than slugging it down like a longshoreman.”

 

“I've played enough longshoremen I think I've earned the right to drink like one.” He chugged down half the glass to prove his point.

 

Napoleon grinned and they settled back to drink in companionable silence. He enjoyed spending time with this man more than anyone else in the world. No one, no woman nor man, made him feel as comfortable and, well, normal as Illya did. The man was ruthless, vicious, irascible, and one of the rudest people Napoleon had ever met. He was also courageous, brave, and generous to a fault. Not to mention the man sported a formidable intellect that Napoleon counted on when in the field.

 

To top it off, the blond was extremely attractive. Napoleon knew from experience just how soft and touchable Illya's hair felt and just how expressive those blue eyes could be when Illya allowed it. Not to mention incredible in bed.

 

Napoleon often felt glad Illya was a man. If his Russian partner had been a woman, Napoleon had no doubt he would have fallen in love with him—er, her—long before now. They'd be married and living in the suburbs with two kids, a dog, a mortgage, and, for Napoleon, a thoroughly boring job.

 

A female friend in whom he'd confided when he and Illya had taken their friendship to a higher level by adding sex to the mix asked him what he thought the implications of that idea meant. Napoleon had laughed it off. The point was moot. Illya was a man. End of story.

 

Napoleon Solo was nothing if not sexually adventurous. Illya had not been his first man and Napoleon doubted his Russian friend would be his last. The fact that sex with Illya seemed to hover on the edge of something more had nothing to do with it.  

 

He glanced at Illya guzzling his vodka. He'd never have to worry about Illya wanting to get married. Illya was a man and, as such, knew that sex was sex. They could fuck like rabbits, get the full enjoyment out of their trysts without emotions getting in the way. The fact that he cared and trusted his soon-to-be lover—he hoped—was just the icing on the proverbial cake. Nope. No marriage bells for them. Two men couldn't get married so the thought of spending a life with his partner in a domestic situation was a fantasy with no basis in reality and not worth thinking about.  He smirked and downed the rest of his drink.

 

Illya's lightly accented voice broke into his revery. “What's so funny?”

 

Before Napoleon could think of a plausible lie, the egg timer in the kitchen went off. Saved by the bell! “Dinner's ready.”

 

Napoleon served the salads first while the chicken rested and absorbed all the savory juices. He opened a bottle of white wine and poured some into their glasses before setting it back into the nearby ice bucket.

 

They chatted over dinner, talking about work, current events, and other subjects of interest. As the meal progressed, both men lost their previous nervousness. Why had they been nervous in the first place? Partners for years, best friends almost as long. They'd seen each other at his best and worst. Held each others' bloody guts in their hands at one time or another. Rescued each other regularly. Even had mind-blowing sex on more than one occasion. What was left to be nervous about?

 

They were pretty much back to normal by the time they were moved to the couch with after-dinner drinks in hand. Napoleon knew Illya wouldn't be drunk—neither was he for that matter—but the alcohol had helped relax them.

 

They sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa even though there was plenty of room. Napoleon felt encouraged by the fact Illya hadn't moved to the chair or asked him to scoot over. “You said you wanted to talk?” he said. There would not be a better time than this to find out what was on his friend's mind.

 

Illya silently regarded his glass and chewed on his bottom lip. Napoleon waited patiently for him to speak up. Illya would talk when he was ready and not before. Trying to nudge him would make him clam up.

 

“I've been thinking,” Illya finally said but then shut up again.

 

Napoleon let a full minute go by. “Is that the reason for all the green smoke coming out of your ears?” he quipped in an attempt to make things easier.

 

Illya smiled slightly. “That's what happens when someone has more than two brain cells to rub together. I realize you wouldn't know that from personal experience.”

 

Napoleon laughed but didn't say anything further, waiting for his ploy to get Illya talking.

 

Illya sighed and seemed to come to a decision. Napoleon recognized the determined set of his friend's attractive features. Illya drained his glass and set it lightly on the coffee table before turning to Napoleon. “The reason I decided to stop, um, being with you. Um. Sexually.”

 

“Yes?” Napoleon prompted, his heart thumping in his chest.

 

“It was a misunderstanding, mostly on my part.”

 

Napoleon frowned. That wasn't what he'd expected. “What did you misunderstand?”

 

Illya's lips tightened and he sighed in frustration. “I had chosen to see no one else but you during that time and I expected you to do the same. When you didn't, well, I became angry.”

 

“I, uh . . .” Napoleon waved his hands in confusion. “Why would you think that? You're a man and, although I really enjoyed having sex with you, I love being with women. I never said I wouldn't continue to date them.”

 

Illya's expression went neutral which could be a bad sign. It could also be a good sign or no sign at all. He didn't always know with Illya.

 

“I realize that now,” Illya said finally. “Thus, the misunderstanding.”

 

Napoleon's cock was definitely showing signs of interest in the way the conversation seemed to be going. Still, he didn't want to assume anything. “So what are you saying?” He locked gazes with Illya, trying to read him, and held his breath in anticipation

 

Illya didn't shy away. “I'd like to try again, but I think we need to verbalize our expectations.”

 

Napoleon released his breath and nodded. “That's fair.”

 

“You already said you're unwilling to give up women.”

 

“I don't think I can limit myself to one person, Illya, no matter how much you mean to me.”

 

Illya searched his face then glanced away. “All right, then. We won't be exclusive to each other.”

 

Napoleon smiled. This was going better than he'd hoped. “I'm glad you understand.”

 

Illya's lips thinned but he nodded in agreement. "We'll both continue to see other people."

 

Napoleon couldn't help scowling. “You mean you'll continue to see Frank.”

 

“Not necessarily. He's in a committed relationship now.”

 

_Good._ Still, it was only fair for Illya to be able to sleep with others, too.  Illya didn't really go out of his way to have sex so it wouldn't be an issue, anyway. Napoleon could have his Illya cake and eat his women, too.  Napoleon smiled. “So I'll be able to do this again?” He leaned over to kiss Illya.

Illya licked his lips as though he still tasted the kiss. “Yes.” He put a finger up when Napoleon started to go in for another kiss. “But I refuse to be your backup plan if some woman you've picked up won't go to bed with you. So no going out on a date and then coming back to the room or coming here expecting me to take care of the erection she gave you.”

“You got it.” Napoleon dove back in, more than ready to start up with Illya again.

Illya relaxed a little, inviting more of Napoleon's attentions.

 

As Napoleon leaned in for another tender kiss he was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He looked at it and gave a sigh as he paused. For a moment he considered letting it ring and then turned back to Illya. "I should get that," he said reluctantly. "But don't forget where we left off."

 

With a subtle smile Illya replied, "Certainly."

 

Taking a long breath, he reached for the receiver. He glanced back at Illya and then out the window as he answered. "Hello?" He covered the mouthpiece with his hand as he raised his chin. His voice was low and soft. "It's Aunt Amy."

 

Illya nodded. He knew her well enough. Napoleon had invited him to come to dinner at her place several times. She was a sweet woman in her early sixties, the older of Napoleon's mother's sisters. Illya's curiosity rose as the expression on Napoleon's face changed and the tone of his voice got more serious.

 

"When?" Napoleon asked. He took a long pause as he listened to the other end. He swallowed with effort as his jaw tightened. "No. I'm okay. Do you need a ... yes. That is what I was thinking. Try to get some sleep. I'll pick you up in the morning." He glanced back at Illya and shook his head. "No, Aunt Amy. It won't be a problem. Goodnight."

 

"What happened?" Illya asked, still curious.

 

Napoleon was quiet a few moments absorbing the information before he spoke. "You remember my cousin Karin?"

 

"Yes. I've met her a couple of times."

 

"Yes. She was at Aunt Amy's the last time you came to dinner," he said recalling the occasion that she'd been to New York. "Did I mention to you that she was ill?" he asked.

 

"I think so. You said she was taking treatments."

 

Napoleon lowered his eyes. "She passed away on Saturday. She put up a long hard fight but it finally beat her. I told Aunt Amy I would take her to the funeral. I'm sure I can get the time. Waverly isn't leaving for a while yet."

 

"Yes of course. I'm sorry, Napoleon. I know everyone in the family thought well of her," Illya responded with genuine sympathy.

 

Napoleon nodded. "Her letters meant a lot to us. Her enthusiasm was inspiring." He looked down at Illya. "I don't mean to be rude but do you think we could call it a night now? I want to make some calls and get ready to pick up Aunt Amy in the morning."

 

Illya embraced Napoleon in sympathy and then stood. "Certainly. I understand completely. Please call me if you need anything," he said. "Anything at all."

 

With a small smile, Napoleon let out a deep breath. "I know I can count on you, Illya." He walked him to the door, gathering his coat for him at the same time. "Thanks, Illya," he said. "For everything tonight."

 

He put a hand on Napoleon's shoulder as they reached the door. "Take care."

 

"I'll call when I can." As Illya left, Napoleon called out to him. "By the way. Welcome back to work in case I haven't mentioned that yet."

 

Illya waved as he boarded the elevator to go down.


	9. Chapter 9

"Nigel?" Alexander Waverly said, clarifying who he was speaking with on the telephone. It was very, very early in the morning in England as he connected with his nephew. "Nice to hear from you. Yes. I will be coming over. I've made arrangements for the time to attend the reunion."

 

Always the work-a-holic, Waverly thumbed through several files on his desk as he listened to his nephew describe the events coming up along with the extended family who were confirmed to be there. There were several Waverly hadn't heard of but that was the way it went with large reunions. He would be sure they were all family before he left though. His memory was like a tape recorder in spite of the appearance he gave others. No one in UNCLE ever underestimated him.

 

"Oh yes. I'm quite looking forward to seeing your mother and your twins. They look adorable from the photograph you sent. You will have to bring them over for a visit sometime."

 

He divided the cases into piles according to priority. There were those he would supervise himself. The ones he would shift onto Napoleon Solo's desk as he prepared to leave the agent in charge for a few weeks. And there were the ones he planned to use as he put Kuryakin back into the field. Lastly, there was a stack of high alert cases on which he needed more research.

 

"I have my reservations already. I think the place will be full of nothing but family," he joked. "It will just about double the town population. Mrs. McHenry? My old teacher? Really? I didn't know she was still alive." He sat back to listen. "My word. 100 next month. I will make a note to stop in to see her. Perhaps applesauce rather than an apple for the teacher," he replied in jest.

 

He began to put a few files away in his briefcase and then opened his safe. He paused as he caught sight of the thick folder containing the Kuryakin diary and its damaging translation. He took it out and held it, thinking over its contents and what to do with it.

 

He felt it would be secure in his safe but then the house would be empty for a month while he was gone. That could be a problem if THRUSH managed to break in or some other incident, even as minor as a robbery, were to take place. The material in the folder was too damaging to be left behind unattended. The best place for it would be in a secure safety deposit box.

 

"I'm sorry, Nigel. What was that last part?" he asked, surprised with himself for being so distracted. "Yes. I think that will be fine. I will call you again next week if anything changes. Give my best to your mother," he said before hanging up.

 

Waverly reached into a lower desk drawer and pulled out a leather wrap with attached ties. He folded the diary and translation notes into it and securely knotted the straps. Then he returned the package to his safe for the night. He would go to the bank before leaving for his trip and place it with other personal papers and possessions in his safe deposit box.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

"THRUSH never sleeps. THRUSH does not give up. THRUSH will rise to take this city, and soon the world, by the throat to make the people know who true leaders are. The youth who follow us will have everything they ever wanted and more."

 

Young David Daniels listened to the audio cassette over and over in his bed at night. His parents were losers. They couldn't give him the things everyone had a right to in life. At 19 he still didn't have a driver's license or a car. He didn't have a stereo or the right clothes like his friend Johnny. He even had to work part time to pay for college when his lazy parents should be paying the whole thing.

 

Meeting Johnny and taking the extra curricular class was going to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He was sure of it. He was very excited about the practical application field trips that were about to start, too. By the end of the year he hoped to be living in a nice apartment with a car and the most gorgeous girl on his arm. Then he could sneer at his lousy parents and show them what losers they were for denying him the things he wanted in life. It put a smile on his face as he fell asleep listening to the empowering tape.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Illya arrived home after a long day of paperwork. With Napoleon gone it was Illya's job to take on the responsibilities Solo left behind. He'd rather hoped for an assignment. Even a courier run would be better than staying inside making certain all "t's" were crossed and "i's" were dotted. By the time he arrived home his eyes were crossing.

 

With a contented sigh, he dropped the bag that contained a large deli sandwich and a container of vegetable soup onto his coffee table. He quickly changed into something more comfortable before sitting down to dinner.

 

He'd just tidied up after eating when a firm tap sounded on the door. He frowned and pulled his weapon from the holster, carrying it with him to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw Javier Ponce, a Section 2 agent from Puerto Rico, on the other side. His frown deepened. Gun still at the ready but out of sight, he opened the door just wide enough for one man to get through.

 

"Javier! What are you doing in town?" Illya greeted as he let him in. Not that he wasn't glad to see the man. They'd worked together a few times, once undercover. That sort of thing tended to either make men fast friends or bitter enemies, depending on how things went. For them, it had gone very well.

 

" _Hola_ , Illya," Javier said, giving the Russian one of his signature sunny smiles. He slipped inside and Illya shut and locked the door behind him. "Mission. Apparently I'm the best match for the mission parameters for a job out of New York." His accent was heavily Latin with a bit of Hebrew thrown in. He grew up in Puerto Rico with his native Puerto Rican father and Israeli mother. His father died when Javier was 13 and his mother moved them to Israel to live with her family, which was where the Mossad recruited him fresh out of college.

 

"Ah, yes," Illya said, some of the parade of paperwork from the day flashing through his mind. "The one upstate."

 

"That's the one, _mi amigo_." He gave Illya an endearingly crooked grin. "Apparently they needed a handsome Latino."

 

A tiny grin played with Illya's lips. "But lacking that, they decided just any Latino would do, I guess."

 

Javier slapped a hand to his chest. "Oh! You wound me!"

 

Illya snorted in amusement, holstered his weapon, and turned to reset the alarm. Actually, Javier Ponce was a devastatingly handsome man. Tousled black hair and smoldering dark eyes combined with his taut gymnast's body to make the man a seduction just waiting to happen. He was the Napoleon Solo of the Puerto Rican office. 

 

He turned and gestured to the sofa. "So, sit down and tell me to what I owe this visit."

 

"Illya! I thought we were friends. Can't a friend visit another friend?" Javier protested as he settled on the couch.

 

Illya's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Of course, but usually you visit me in my office. Come on, Ponce. Something's going on in that handsome head of yours. What is it?"

 

Javier's face brightened. "You think I'm handsome?"

 

Illya blinked in surprise. He had mentioned that fact, hadn't he? "Um, well, that is why you were chosen for your mission, is it not?"

 

"Yes, but the fact that you think so is encouraging." He took a deep breath. "So, I hear you're back on the market."

 

The conversation was shifting too quickly and was too confusing for Illya to keep up. "Market? I didn't realize I was for sale."

 

Javier chuckled. "Not for sale, but up for grabs."

 

Illya's mouth opened and closed a couple of times but nothing came out. He had no idea what his friend was talking about.

 

Javier stood and moved until he was just at the edge of Illya's comfort zone. "I understand you and Frank are no longer seeing each other."

 

Illya stiffened. He had thought he and Frank had been very discrete but apparently not. "I don't know what you're talking about. Frank and I are colleagues. We've gone to a few jazz clubs together. What has that got to do with anything?" Deny now. Kill Frank for obviously opening his big mouth later. Of course, if Ponce planned to try to blackmail him, the Latino would be the first to die. Frank would be second.  

 

Javier's eyes widened and he stepped back, hands raised. "Don't be alarmed, _mi amigo_ ," he said placatingly. "Your secret is safe with me. I don't even think anyone else in the UNCLE family realized the two of you were together.  I've had my eye on you for awhile but I didn't think you'd accepted what you were yet."

 

Illya's eyes glittered dangerously. "And what, exactly, do you think I am?" His heart pounded with a fear he absolutely did not allow to show on his face.

 

"A lover of men." Javier smirked and tapped his chest. "Like me."

 

Illya's eyebrow climbed under his blond fringe. "What?" Javier was a homosexual? No. Not possible. He flirted with and dated every woman he came in contact with.

 

_"So does Napoleon,"_ the voice in the back of his mind pointed out.

 

Illya had to concede the point. Napoleon was known as the Casanova of North America. Yet not only had Illya and his partner slept together a number of times, Napoleon made it very clear he wanted to do so again.

 

"If this is a trap, Javier," Illya intoned softly, an undeniable edge in his tone, "I will kill you and hide your body where no one will ever find it."

 

Javier was no slouch in the danger department himself. Even so, his face blanched at the threat. He waved his hands in front of him, eyes wide. " _Dios_ , Illya, no! This isn't like that! I'm just trying to ask you out to dinner." He sighed. "You think you and Frank are the only homosexuals in UNCLE? You're not. Oh, in the scheme of things, you and I are in the minority, but there are a handful of us worldwide. We have sort of banded together, made a little family."

 

Illya relaxed a little. Frank had said a few things that made Illya wonder about just such a group. "With so many knowing of the others, how do you manage to keep it secret?"

 

"No one would out another, you see, because it would out him, as well. In a way I suppose it's a form of blackmail, but it's one we all enter into willingly. For many, our little family is the only support they have. We protect each other. Much like partners watch each other's backs."

 

It made sense. Illya shifted his stance into a slightly less defensive one. "And what if I am like you? What makes you think I'm available?"

 

"You had me scared for a minute there," Javier breathed in relief.

 

"Don't relax just yet. Answer the question"

 

Javier shrugged. "Easy. I had figured out you and Frank were a bit of an item. I was a bit surprised at that, by the way. Frank is well known in our circles for wanting a permanent relationship and I was pretty sure you had no more interest in such a thing as your playboy partner."

 

Illya regarded him for a long minute then relaxed completely. "He seemed the safest bet. I knew he was a homosexual. He was part of UNCLE so he knew the score and wouldn't cause problems if I got called away suddenly." Illya shrugged. "It just seemed the most convenient. The fact we have a number of interests in common just made it more logical."

 

Javier nodded in understanding. "I can see that. At any rate, when he started up with his present boyfriend, I knew there was no longer anything between you. Frank just doesn't spread himself around like that. He is strictly a one man at a time sort. I figured you had given him his walking papers because he became too clingy. Since I have no more interest in a relationship as you do, I thought a fling between us would be better for both of us. After all, you and I understand our job much better than even Frank or any of the others can."

 

Illya's first instinct was to turn Javier's proposal down. He tended to be a one man sort, as well, and the man he wanted was Napoleon. Well, one of the men he wanted, but Antonio was forever unavailable so that made it a moot point.

 

On the other hand, he and Napoleon had agreed they would not be exclusive to each other. He had no doubt Napoleon would take advantage of that concession. Illya also had no doubt that if he, himself, did not take advantage as well, the old jealousies and hurt would return and that would chase Napoleon away.

 

"I don't see any reason why we can't go to dinner," Illya finally agreed. "Tomorrow night?"

 

Javier jumped up, the sunny smile on his face once again. He shook his head. "I leave for upstate in a couple of hours. I'll call you when I get back. I should have a couple of days before I have to return to Puerto Rico. We can do it then if you're in town."

 

"All right. I'll see you soon, then."

 

"I should have this mission done by Friday." He checked his watch. "I'd ask if you want to take a quick tumble but I have just enough time to get back to the office and gather what I need for the job before heading out. I'll see you when I get back." His smile widened and turned lascivious. "We can take a tumble then." With a jaunty wave, he swept out of the apartment.

 

A bemused Illya closed the door behind him. He didn't want to go out with anyone other than Napoleon, but he had to or it would never work out between them. It could be worse. Javier was handsome--as he'd accidentally mentioned out loud--interesting, and wanted nothing more from him than an occasional hot meal and some hot sex. Javier lived in Puerto Rico and they only ran into each other a few times a year. It would help Illya fulfill his part of the bargain he had with Napoleon and Javier wouldn't have the constant requests for his time that Frank had started to make towards the end of their affair. He realized this could actually work out rather nicely.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me awhile to post after the first one today. I kinda fell asleep while doing it. LOL.

Napoleon strode down the gunmetal corridors of UNCLE, glad to be home. It had been a difficult few days. Karin had been one of his favorite cousins and being around everyone without her made him miss her all the more. Even though he dealt in death on a daily basis, it still hit him hard when someone he knew died. Maybe because he and Illya flirted with the Grim Reaper so often, he knew the finality of it more than most people. He also knew how to move on afterwards, though, and he knew Karin would want him to do so rather than let his feelings of loss get him or Illya killed.

 

The thought of Illya brought a smile to Napoleon's face and spring to his step. Finally--finally--Illya was his once again. The icing on the cake was that he didn't even have to give up women to do it. When they were together before he sensed that was what Illya wanted. He'd tried. God, had he tried. Managed it, too, but just barely.

 

Truth be told, he'd started to resent Illya for it, too. When Illya cut him off, though, that resentment flew right out the window, replaced by indignation and disbelief. He was used to being the one to end an affair. He didn't like being on the receiving end of things.  

 

Especially since he rather liked the fact that in bed was the only time Illya let him dominate him. Napoleon wasn't going to lie to himself about the fact he enjoyed that aspect almost as much as he enjoyed the sex. Illya would accept a direct order or allow Napoleon to have the last decision on things, but never without a fight. Napoleon was the boss but only marginally. They were partners and both he and Illya tended to see that relationship of equality as superseding his role as CEA. Even so, it was nice for Illya to give in without a fight.

 

"Napoleon Solo, you'd better stop right there!"

 

He recognized Sarah's dulcet tones. He smiled as her svelte body and lovely face sprang into his mind's eye. He turned and the fantasy changed to reality. "Sarah, my sweet."

 

She approached him, a seductive pout on her pink lips. "You cad!" she said, the twinkle in her eyes belying the sting of the words. "You owe me a date. I do hope you are able to pay up tonight."

 

Napoleon thought about it. Sarah was a beautiful woman and he had already cancelled on her once. He knew she would have sex with him at the end of the date if he took her out to dinner and dancing. On the other hand, he also had Illya waiting in the wings for him. Illya would have sex with him, too, and Napoleon wouldn't even have to buy him dinner or take him dancing. Well, maybe he'd expect dinner, but he'd be just as happy with take-out Chinese as "Chez Maurice." Happier. That made him the cheaper date. Besides, Napoleon had waited for Illya to agree to let him fuck him again for months and he wasn't about to blow that now.

 

He regarded Sarah with eyes filled with apology and a slight moue of dismay on his lips. "I'm so sorry, my sweet, but I will be unable to see you tonight. I am really exhausted and I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company. I would much rather be completely awake so I can devote all my attention to you rather than trying to keep my eyes open. I will be in much better shape tomorrow night. Why don't we do it then? I can pick you up at six and we'll make a long evening of it."

 

She sighed in disappointment but her smile didn't leave her face. "Of course, Napoleon. You get some sleep tonight , though, because I plan to keep you up quite late tomorrow night!"

 

He kissed her on the cheek. The corridor was too public to do anything else. One of his other conquests might show up and see it and that would cause problems. They knew he played the field with all of them, but they didn't like to see it. "I look forward to it."

 

Her smile widened and she turned around to return to her desk. He watched her backside appreciatively thinking about what he would be doing with her the next night. When she disappeared around the corner, he whistled a merry tune as he resumed his trek to the office he shared with Illya.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Illya made a few notes in the margin of the file in front of him and placed it in the stack on the right side of his desk. A secretary would be by before long to pick them up and distribute them to the proper parties to fix whatever Illya had asked for. He glanced up as the door to the office opened.

 

" _Hola, amigo_ ," greeted Javier Ponce as he entered the office.

 

Illya sat back in his chair and smiled. "Back from upstate, I see. How did the mission go?"

 

"A complete success and only one THRUSH got the chance to throw any punches."

 

Illya frowned in concern. "Very bad?"

 

The artificial lights reflected in his shiny black hair as Javier shook his head. "A few bumps and bruises but nothing much." He grinned. "You should see the THRUSH _pendejo._ I got a lot more punches in."

 

Illya snorted in amusement. "Good to hear."

 

"So, you want to go to dinner tonight?"

 

"Of course. Why don't you meet me here at six?"

 

"I'll be here," said Javier. "I need to go do my report. See you at six." He turned and left the office.

Illya stared at the closed door. Over the last few days Illya had thought it over and felt his decision to take Javier up on his offer would be for the best. If he showed Napoleon he was willing to go out with other people, his partner would realize he was serious about not saying anything to him about dating.  

 

He was still looking at the door when it opened again a couple of seconds later and Napoleon walked in. Illya felt his heart lift at the sight of his friend. "Napoleon! I didn't know you were returning today. Why didn't you call me?"

 

Napoleon sat on the corner of Illya's desk, shifting aside the files balancing there. "I just wanted to get home so I didn't take the time to use a phone. I thought of using the communicator but since I wasn't coming back from a mission and the Old Man frowns on using them for personal business, I decided not to."

 

Illya grunted in understanding.

 

Napoleon leaned closer. "So, what time should I expect you tonight?"

 

Illya's eyebrow shot up. "I can't tonight," he said, his voice laced with regret. "I have a date."

 

Napoleon froze, eyes widening in surprise. "A date?"

 

"You should have called. I would have turned him down." Illya took note of the expression on Napoleon's face. He enjoyed the tiny thrill of satisfaction that shot through him. "What? The fact that I have a date surprises you?"

 

As Napoleon tried to regain his composure he struggled for words. "Uh... Yes. I suppose so. You never dated that I knew of."

 

"Then you knew wrong," Illya said returning to his work. "How is the family?" he asked.

 

Napoleon took a seat at his desk and let out a long breath as he tried to get past the shocking revelation that Illya was dating and turn his mind to work again. "Uhm... As well as we could expect I'm sure. Time will tell. Aunt Amy stayed there. I think she is going to spend a month or two with the family."

 

"Your aunt is a good woman. Strong." Illya commented before their conversation died down.

 

<><><><><><><><><><>

 

"Johnny," Phillip Austin said sternly. "Listen to me. I've invested a lot in you, in your importance to this assignment. It's not just about school. It's about a real investment in the future of THRUSH in this country."

 

"Cool it, Pop. I got it," he said casually. "I can handle this with my eyes closed."

 

Phillip slammed his fist on the breakfast table, making the glass of milk splash over its rim and Johnny jump in his seat. "Don't give me that hippy attitude! This is serious business. David Daniels and Matthew Doyle are gifted young men and will be brilliant scientists. We have to make sure that they join us. They have the right balance of motivation and desire that we can easily recruit if you do exactly what I told you to do."

 

"I know," Johnny replied, clearly intimidated by his father's more official tone. "I've already got David interested. It won't take long for me to get Matt and maybe even others involved."

 

"It better not. THRUSH paid your tuition and everything else that goes with your schooling. I don't want to have to pay them back," he growled at his son. "Now finish your breakfast and get going. My son will not be late for his classes."

 

Johnny nodded a little nervously and guzzled his glass of milk leaving his half-eaten pancakes and sausage to get cold.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Illya walked into Alexander Waverly's office with an easy stride. He looked directly at the elder man with respect and said, "You asked to see me, sir?"

 

Waverly casually packed his pipe. "Yes. Please have a seat. I wish to discuss a mission with you."

 

"Mission? I am being sent out on assignment?" he said, hoping his excitement didn't come through in his voice. The downtime made him anxious and he longed to get back into the action again. He also knew that Waverly might have issues with his fieldwork now. Any sane man would if they knew of Illya's real past.

 

"Yes. It shouldn't be too difficult and I think you will find yourself in a very familiar environment." Waverly sat down and placed his unlit pipe on the desk.

 

"What kind of environment would that be, sir?" Illya asked. He had many questions but knew Waverly would only tell him as much as he wanted and at whatever pace he wished. It was difficult to be patient. So much had changed with his emotional being since his time with Antonio and facing himself in the asylum. The calm he displayed with such ease a couple years ago was more difficult to master now. He would have to just work harder at it.

 

"I'm sending you back to school, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly stated.

 

"School? Survival school?" he asked, heart sinking, thinking Waverly had lost so much respect for his abilities he thought Illya would need more training.

 

"No. College to be precise," Waverly explained and placed a mission folder on the desk and rotated the tabletop to deliver it to his agent.

 

Illya looked at the Head of UNCLE New York in confusion. "College, sir?"

 

"You have the right youthful appearance and should fit right in. Even your haircut makes you look scholarly. I want you to keep it that way," Waverly said. "We suspect that THRUSH may be trying to recruit potential graduates in several fields. This could be the start of a long term project. We don't know what their ultimate goal is. Nor do we know for sure this is what is happening. As a student you will have the perfect opportunity to observe the student body and the professors for clues."

 

"Would it not be better if I were a teacher?" he asked, thinking he would have access to more information that way.

 

"No," Waverly said. "We don't believe this presently involves any of the faculty. As a student the other students will be more likely to relate to you. We have arranged an ID card for you and transfer papers from a college in California. You will proceed to the school this afternoon, register your transfer, and begin your classes as normal. Your initial targets will be those students on your list who are gifted young men on minimal scholarships. THRUSH tends to target those in need of monetary advancement."

 

"And what do I do if I find THRUSH there?" Illya asked.

 

"Your assignment is to investigate and report until ordered otherwise," Waverly said and picked up his pipe to light it.

 

Illya knew that when Waverly lit his pipe it meant the conversation was at its end. Illya picked up his file and stood. "Will that be all, sir?"

 

Waverly nodded and waved Illya out while drawing the match flame to his burgundy flavored tobacco.


	11. Chapter 11

Assignment! Illya jumped for joy on the inside though he maintained his usual cool demeanor to those around him. Perhaps it wasn't the action he hoped for, but at least it wasn't a way of keeping him off the streets and tied to a desk for the rest of his career.  llya kept the casual pace of his walk back to the office he shared with Napoleon. As he entered the room he held up the folder.

 

Napoleon looked up, surprised. "What's that?"

 

"New assignment," Illya said, pleased.

 

"For us? Why wasn't I briefed?"

 

"Not us. Me," Illya said.

 

"Alone?" Napoleon responded. "That's not normal."

 

Both men knew standard operation procedure required a back up on the first mission back after serious incidences like the one Illya had just been through.

 

"I can handle it," Illya insisted, not letting an oversight on Waverly’s part stop him from getting back into the field at last. He knew Waverly didn't normally make mistakes like this either. Perhaps the man deliberately decided he should be alone on this for some other reason.

 

Napoleon shrugged. He had his reservations but didn't want to upset Illya by voicing his concerns. At least not yet. "I didn't say you couldn't. What is it?" he asked.

 

"Local. Undercover at a college as a student," he explained. "Apparently THRUSH may be trying to recruit vulnerable students."

 

"For what?" Napoleon asked, approaching Illya's desk to perch on the corner and see the file. He picked up Illya's ID card. "Dmitri Grishuk?"

 

"Says here parents are immigrants and that I've been in the country since I was 12. I guess I won't have to fake an accent for this."

 

Napoleon tossed the ID back onto the desk. "I don't like this," he said.

 

"Don't like what?"

 

"You. Going out on assignment alone." Napoleon shook his head and got up again. "You know the rules just as much as I do."

 

"Rules? UNCLE policy is not like Soviet ‘must be followed to the letter’ protocol, Napoleon. I'm sure that Mr. Waverly knows what he's doing," Illya argued. "Besides. I am not a child. I am a highly skilled agent."

 

Napoleon, with his back turned to Illya, rolled his eyes. "You are blind to everything when it comes to Waverly. He must have some ulterior motive for sending you out alone."

 

Illya bristled with indignation as he stood. "I don't know what your problem is, Napoleon, but I assure you I am neither blind nor incompetent. I can handle this." His mouth set in a hard line as he quickly gathered up his things and scurried out of the office to change. His normal suit would be a little too dressy for the campus. A turtle-necked sweater seemed more appropriate.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

After Illya left to register for school, Napoleon waited impatiently for his afternoon meeting with Waverly. As the date approached for the Waverly family reunion the old man was spending a couple hours each afternoon with him. The two of them went over each assignment, the agents involved, and the progress of the missions.

 

Today Napoleon wanted to bring up the lack of back up on Illya's task. He could hardly contain himself to wait for the meeting. The first instinct he had on hearing of Illya's solo affair was to march right down to Waverly's office and confront the man on it.

 

Waverly couldn't be pressured into anything though. Napoleon knew that was one of the reasons the Englishman was chosen for his position. Solid and a clear thinker, Alexander Waverly was a force to be reckoned with. Even heads of other UNCLE chapters looked up to Waverly with respect. They backed down during disagreements with him and Waverly never had to raise his voice.

 

Although Napoleon tried to concentrate on reviewing the files and folders to prepare for the meeting his mind was constantly drawn away to thinking about Illya. If it wasn't the unsettling thought of the blond being alone on a mission, it was the idea that Illya would date another man. Their bargain that they would see others and still be together wasn't to mean other men in Napoleon's mind. A woman here and there wasn't the same thing.

 

Eventually a steady ringing caught his attention. Napoleon sat up, lifting his mournful chin from the cradle of his left arm propped on the desk.  He picked up the phone receiver. "Solo here."

 

"Napoleon. Where are you? You were supposed to meet with Mr. Waverly 10 minutes ago," Lisa Rogers said, her tone colored with astonishment.

 

Looking at the clock on the wall and then his watch, Napoleon was surprised that he had so thoroughly lost himself in thought. No wonder Lisa sounded so surprised. He prided himself on always being punctual.

 

"Ah... sorry, Lisa," he said in his syrupy golden tone. "I must have forgotten to wind my watch. I'll be right there." With the phone cradled on his shoulder he gathered his things. "What kind of mood is he in?" he asked.

 

"I guarantee it will be a bad one if you don't get your handsome face in here and fast," she warned him.

 

<><><><><><><>

 

Illya rested his arms on the counter, looking over the papers he filled out. "I'm sorry for the late enrollment but are you sure these are all the classes with open spaces for my minor?"

 

The woman with graying temples and deepening crow’s feet at the edges of her eyes sighed. "Yes. The classes filled up early this year. The school is becoming quite popular. What about taking Russian? It would be easy for you I'm sure. You said you already speak Ukrainian. That's the same thing."

 

"Which is why I do not need to take it," Illya replied. He wasn't about to tell her that was like saying English and French were the same language. Americans just didn't understand the Soviet Union wasn't made up of just Russians. Besides, he spoke Russian, too, so his objection remained the same.

 

"Well you would get credit for the course toward your degree and it would give you more time to study for your major," she explained. "Of course if you want to split your year and take the other classes next year it would work but you'd be in school longer. You won't get your degree as fast."

 

"I have a suggestion."

 

Illya looked behind the woman helping him to where a pretty coed sat at a desk. The young woman bit her lip nervously as the older woman glared at her.

 

"What do you suggest?" Illya asked her.

 

She glanced at the older woman and took a fortifying breath. "You could take the Soviet Studies class instead."

 

Illya raised an eyebrow. "And how is taking a class about a country I already know different from taking a language I already know?"

 

"Well, it's sort of like history. I'm American yet I still had to take an American history class. I didn't realize how much American history I didn't know until I took that class. It would be the same thing with you and the Soviet Studies class. You might know a lot of it but at least some of it will be new to you. Besides," she added with a flirtatious smile. "I'm in it. I could probably use some help with it."

 

Illya gave a soft huff of amusement. "All right. You've convinced me."

 

"Great, Louise," the older woman said gruffly. "Why don't you finish enrolling Mr. Grishuk."

 

Illya winced at the way she pronounced it "Gry-shuck" but refrained from correcting her. It didn't matter, anyway. Not like it was his real name she mangled.

 

Louise's face brightened. "I'd be happy to. Why don't you bring all your paperwork over here, Mr. Grishuk." She pronounced it correctly. "I'll get you finished."

 

Illya moved his papers to her desk and worked to fill in the rest of his schedule.

 

"You must know people in high places," Louise said as she went over the pages he'd already finished.

 

Illya's pen paused midway through scribbling the signature of his fake name on the last form. "What makes you say that," he said guardedly as he completed the signature.

 

"You're a week too late for enrollment. We stopped accepting new students five days after classes started on September second." She rolled a paper onto the platen of her typewriter and quickly typed out Illya's new schedule.

 

Illya relaxed slightly. "Oh. I have an uncle that is rather influential." He shrugged. "It comes in handy sometimes."

 

"I don't suppose it matters. If you can't catch up you'll be the only one to suffer." Louise smiled at him to take any sting out of the comment. She checked over the forms one more time and tapped them on the desk to straighten them out before putting them in a folder with Illya's alias on the tab. One copy of the schedule went into the folder and she handed Illya the second. "I'll see you in class on Monday."

 

Illya took the papers and stood to leave. "You certainly will. Thank you for your help." His lips quirked in amusement and he nodded to her before leaving. He had just enough time to clean up and meet Javier back at his office.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon straightened his tie and slicked his hair back with a hand on his way to Waverly's office. He thought about what and how to bring up Illya's backup--or lack thereof--for this most recent mission. Being late to the meeting meant he was going into it from a weakened position. Not where he wanted to be. It wouldn't be the first time, however, and he seldom lost. But, then, neither did Waverly. This should be interesting.

 

He took a deep breath and gave Lisa his best smile. "May I go in?"

 

She smirked at him. "I think you'd better." She pushed a button to let Mr. Waverly know the person entering his domain was cleared then went about her business.

 

Napoleon didn't even break stride, expecting the doors to part before he could run into them. He entered Waverly's office with an air of confidence and strength he didn't feel. "Sorry I'm late, sir. I was going over the details of one of my agent's missions and saw a few discrepancies in policy. I wanted to make sure I had my facts correct before bringing them to your attention." The best defense was a good offense, after all. Besides, this kind of thing was not so uncommon an occurrence that it would irritate The Old Man. It was part of Napoleon's job and part of what this special training was all about.

 

Waverly's bushy brows shot up. "Do tell, Mr. Solo. What agent is that?"

 

Napoleon sat down and placed his briefcase on the desk, snapping it open briskly as he brought out his copy of Illya's mission file. His copies weren't always complete and he was sure this one was one of those. "Mr. Kuryakin apparently has no backup in place. It is our policy for an agent first returning to the field to have a backup."

 

Waverly's eyes narrowed as he studied his protégé. Then he relaxed and reached for his pipe already packed with tobacco. He slapped at his pockets for a light. "It's gratifying to see you are so aware of policy, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin has a backup."

 

_But it's not me!_ Napoleon swallowed his protest and kept his expression mildly curious. "How so, sir? I don't see anyone assigned as such."

 

Waverly finally found a matchbook and pulled it out. He pulled off a match and folded the cover back down as he struck it across the rough surface. The match flared to life and he placed it to his pipe bowl as he puffed on it. Smoke stuttered from the sides of his mouth and he sat back in satisfaction. "Mr. Solo, the mission is here in New York. Mr., erm, Kuryakin has this entire facility as his backup. He can call in here anytime in the day or night and aid will be at his side within minutes. It's the best backup he could have."

 

Napoleon's lips compressed into a thin line. "Normally I would agree with you, sir, but Ill...Mr. Kuryakin was nearly lobotomized into a vegetable by an U.N.C.L.E. psychiatrist." He didn't add, "and that you allowed to abduct him" but ooohhhh, he wanted to. "It was traumatic enough it has taken him over two months recuperate. Having a backup after a psychological episode like that, I believe, is essential."

 

The bushy eyebrows went into action again as the smoke from the pipe curled up around them. "Are you saying Mr. Kuryakin's present psychological health is a risk to this organization?"

 

"No, sir!" Napoleon backpedaled. Getting Illya labeled such a thing could keep him out of the field forever. His friend would never forgive him if that happened. He cleared his throat, conceding this point to Waverly. It would be the only one. "No, sir, I believe Mr. Kuryakin is fully capable of carrying out this mission. But the policy is there for a reason. Someone should be close by in case we're sending him into the field too early."

 

Waverly sighed. "What do you want a backup agent to do, Mr., uh, Solo? Sit outside the man's classes and follow him around campus?"

 

"Uh, well, no," admitted Napoleon. "But I...uh, he should be close by in case Mr. Kuryakin needs m...um, him."

 

Waverly's eyes flashed but whether with irritation or amusement, it came and went too quickly for Napoleon to decide which.

 

"Mr. Solo, I believe I am giving your partner more credit than you are. I am confident in his ability to do this mission at this time. Not only does the young man not need you or anyone else to hold his hand, I believe we would do more harm than good to his recovery if we did so. I have instructed him to check in with me daily." He gave Napoleon a pointed look. "Or you. In an emergency he will contact the switchboard and they will dispatch someone. He also has the luxury of coming into the office if need be. I see no reason to waste manpower on a man that does not need it. Now enough of such nonsense. It's time to get down to the real work."

 

Napoleon relented, knowing he'd completely lost this round. But not the war. Not even the battle. This was a mere skirmish. A precursor to the battle. He was fighting for Illya's life and that was one fight he did not intend to lose.


	12. Chapter 12

Napoleon was deep in thought when he rounded a corner and ran into Sarah. He grabbed her by the waist to steady her.

 

"Hi, Napoleon," she purred. "It's always so nice to run into you."

 

Despite his Russian troubles--or maybe because of them--Napoleon gave her a slow, simmering smile. "Mmm. I would have to agree, lovely Sarah." He lifted a hand and twirled a strand of her bleached blonde hair around his finger. The color was flat and not nearly as beautiful as Illya's. Touching Illya's hair felt like petting a cat's fur. Sarah's hair felt more like what he imagined a cow's would feel.

 

She pouted prettily. Napoleon stopped himself before he started comparing her mouth to Illya's, too. "Something wrong, my sweet?"

 

"You owe me a dinner," she whined.

 

Napoleon tried not to cringe. He used to think her pouting and whining were attractive. Now they were just annoying. Even so, she was good in bed.

 

_Not as good as Illya._ He frowned slightly at the thought. Was it true? He shied away from thinking about it any further. He had a beautiful woman in front of him, ready and more than willing. He forced his attention back to her. "You're absolutely right. Why don't I make it up to you tonight? Dinner at "Maison du Pierre" then maybe dancing at the Rainbow Room. And then a nightcap at your place. How does that sound?"

 

Her face lit up with a big smile. "That sounds wonderful."

 

He gave her his patented seduction smile. "I'll pick you up at seven." He kissed her lightly on the lips. "That should hold you until then." He whistled as he headed back to his office.

                       

<><><><><><><><><>

  
  
Napoleon waited anxiously for Illya to return from the college. Waverly's reassurances didn't sit well with him and he wondered how he could work a way around it.

 

The simplest solution would be to sit tight and, once Waverly was gone, call a review of the assignment to assess the situation. At that time he could make the ruling to add back up and even do some supervising of Illya in the field at his discretion. It wasn't common but he knew Waverly did the same thing on several occasions.

 

With a heavy sigh Napoleon stared at the clock. The hands almost seem to have stopped. The only thing he could do was start wading through the mile of paperwork he had to go over for the next review on Monday. He only had one more week until Waverly was due to leave and there was a ton to do to be ready.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Although the assignment was a simple and straightforward one, Illya was happy to be back in the field. He had begun to have doubts that he would ever be assigned to active field duty again. But Waverly seemed to want him and that was enough. It was far better than being tossed back into the hands of Sarkov in Russia. The thoughts of what could happen to him there would be enough to bring any ordinary man to his knees in terror. He didn't want to dwell on that. Of course, there was a strong possibility KGB and Sarkov wouldn't care if their agent was a little on the insane side. After all, it always seemed to him that was what they tried to accomplish. He shook his head. Didn't want to dwell on that, either.

 

Illya went to the book store and purchased the necessary volumes for his classes. With each one he opened the cover and gasped at the cost. Even the used books were outrageously overpriced. It was shocking that the West made education so expensive when in Russia all the students needs were given to them.

 

A lot of the books he'd read cover to cover as recreational reading years before. He knew much more updated information than what they contained. They were required to have if he were to pass as an ordinary student so he lugged the heavy burden outside and asked for directions to the Student Union Building where he could sit and sort out his things.

 

On the walk over to the brick building on the far side of the campus, Illya stopped under a shade tree and sat down, looking like any student on a break. He checked around to make sure no one was in listening distance before calling in to U.N.C.L.E. and reporting his progress. He wasn't surprised when the person on the receiving end took the standard information and passed him on to Waverly. Often the head of U.N.C.L.E. New York would have specifics to pass on to the people in the field personally.

 

"Mr. Waverly, sir," Illya said as the connection went through.

 

"Ah... Mr. Kuryakin. Have you completed registering for your classes?" the pleasant English accented voice inquired.

 

"Yes, sir. I was just on my way to the Student Union to find a place to stay near campus," he replied.

 

"Good. I'm glad I caught you before you'd applied anywhere. I have a name for you. David Daniels," Waverly said, allowing a moment for Illya to absorb the name. "He's a student that we have concerns about. He's living in an apartment about half a block from the college campus and is advertising for a roommate. If you are lucky the space is still open."

 

Illya memorized the address and decided to check into it as soon as he finished at the Student Union.

 

"Yes, sir. I know where that is. Can someone bring by his file?" he asked.

 

"Yes," Waverly replied. "I'll let you read it and then it can be returned with the courier. U.N.C.L.E. out."

 

Illya disassembled the communicator and tucked the otherwise normal looking pen back into his pocket. He wasn't concerned with the abrupt end to the conversation. Waverly had never been a man interested in chit-chat.

 

There were a number of people in the Student Union when Illya got there. First impression was that of a nice bunch of normal kids. A friendly young guy pointed the way to some lockers so Illya could store his books while he looked for a place to stay. He made a point of browsing the bulletin board even though he had an apartment in mind. Illya spotted that very one on the postings and took it down to reduce the chances of someone else getting it before heading out to secure his lodging.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

The apartment building from the outside was just like every other one on the block. Boxy. Dull. Drab. Old. It had a well used appearance, although far from being a slum. It wasn't fancy but definitely had the potential to be comfortable. One could tell by various graffiti that it had been inhabited by students for quite awhile. Illya walked up to the third floor and followed the numbers to 315. He looked both ways down the hall and then knocked on the door.

 

"Come on in. It's open," a male voice inside called out.

 

Illya tried the knob and found it unlocked. He opened the door slowly and looked inside. "Hi. I'm looking for Olaf?" he said.

 

A tall Nordic looking blond man looked over from the sofa and raised a hand like a student answering a question. "You got me."

 

Illya studied the young man while he stepped inside.  "Hi. I'm Dima Grishuk. I found this ad that says you are looking for roommate?" he said, holding up the paper from the bulletin board.  As before, his accent held far more Russian than British elements.

 

Olaf stood and walked over, extending his hand. He was even taller standing up as his 6'3" frame closed in on Illya. "Hi, Dima. You can call me Ollie. Everyone does."

 

"Okay, Ollie it is. So you have room for rent?" he asked again.

 

"Yeah. Come on. I'll show you." Olaf walked him down to the last room at the end of the hall. It was larger than the tiny room he inhabited when a student in the Soviet Union but small by American standards. There was a desk and bookshelf by a window that would let in the morning sun. A single bed with linens and a closet for clothes. There was also a small table and a chair making the place a little crowded but cozy at the same time.

 

"Rent is sixty-five a month, utilities included. You pay for your own food," Olaf said.

 

Illya could tell this was the largest of the three bedrooms without even looking at the others. "Why would you not take this one for yourself?" he asked.

 

"Gets the morning sun. Most of us like late nights," he said, nudging Illya in the ribs. "If you get my drift."

 

Illya didn't, but gave him a wry smile and nodded. "Seems fair to me."

 

"First and last month in advance," Olaf said. "When can you move in?"

 

"I will bring money tomorrow and move then. Will that be all right?"

 

"Seems fair to me, Dima," he said, echoing Illya's own words.


	13. Chapter 13

Napoleon sighed as the end of the work day came and went with no sign of Illya's return. He considered waiting longer but Sarah showed up at the office door excited for their date. He didn't really feel like going out, which for him was odd, but he was also a man of honor and a promise was a promise. He didn't have any excuses lined up in any case.

 

Putting on his best smile, Napoleon folded up his last file, tucked the stack into the drawer, and locked them up.

 

"I like a lady who is on time," he said charmingly. He pulled his suit jacket from the back of his chair as he stood and then in one smooth motion swung it around and slid his arms into the sleeves. After a quick adjustment of the cuffs of his shirt, he offered Sarah his arm. "Dinner awaits and then..." he said.

 

"And then what?" she giggled back.

 

"Who knows?" he replied flashing a wink and a mischievous grin back at her. The door closed behind them putting Illya out of his mind for the night.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

"Javier?" Illya said in surprise as he entered his apartment. "How did you get in?"

 

The handsome Latino grinned back. "I'm an agent. I have my ways."

 

Illya snorted and then let out a small laugh. "Any other man and I would have had to kill you."

 

"I know. But you won't," he said and stood. He walked over to Illya with a file. "Mr. Waverly said you needed to read this over. I have to take it back when you're done."

 

Illya looked at the name on the tab. "Thank you. Let me look through this before we go out. You don't mind waiting do you?"

 

"Take your time. I have all weekend free," he told him.

 

Illya nodded. "I wish I did but I only have tonight. I move into a shared apartment just off campus tomorrow. You can stay here while I'm gone if you wish."

 

"Nice of you to offer. Thanks." Javier took a seat on the sofa again. "When you're ready how about some spicy Caribbean tonight? This New England stuff is pretty boring."

 

Illya liked all kinds of food. He was partial to Ukrainian cuisine if he had to pick a favorite but anything else was okay too. "All right. I kind of know what you mean about American. They don't seem very original."

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon spent the rest of the weekend out in his boat. His date with Sarah went well but he invited Patricia along for a sail down the coast. He wanted to take advantage of the weather while it was still summer. While the change in women, to one he found more appealing, seemed to make sense he made excuses to man the wheel as much as possible. Even relaxing on his boat didn't feel right. Everything was fine last time he took the Pursang out. Everything was the same now, as then. Perfect weather, good food, and delightful company. Patricia substituting for Illya seemed the only difference.

 

He glanced at Patricia where she sat in the bow of the boat, her hairspray brittle tresses not so much flowing in the breeze as flapping. Illya had even sat in the same place in a similar pose. Of course, his hair blew around his face rather than snapped up and down. Still, very similar.

 

Napoleon scowled as he thought about the reason why Illya wasn't with him this time, too. He had a "date." With another man. Why? Why did the insufferable bastard feel the need to replace him with someone else, even if it was just for the night? A niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him he did the very same thing with Sarah. And Patricia. He thwacked the stupid voice with an imaginary finger. Not the same thing! They were women! lllya was with another man. Completely different.

 

He spent the remainder of the outing reminding himself of that.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

For Illya things were a little different. He moved into the apartment on Saturday. Olaf took his rent and gave him a key in the morning.  Illya brought over his meager belongings before heading out for the rest of the day.  He had classes to attend, which he actually enjoyed somewhat.  It wasn't until the evening that Illya met David Daniels. The boy seemed polite enough, but appeared to be a loner. First opinions could change as time went on though.

 

Olaf's warning that college life was one of late nights proved an understatement as Saturday night seemed to be a never ending party with people coming and going and music until almost four in the morning. A strong scent Illya recognized as Cannabis—what the kids called pot, grass, or weed—clung to many of the visitors and soon filled the apartment. The pleasant summer air through the open windows dissipated a lot of the smoke, but not all.  Illya still found it somewhat like walking through a thin fog.

 

He tried to remember as many of the names of the people he met as he could for background checks. His first night of observations gave him insight into a college lifestyle so different from his own experiences studying in Georgia and even the Sorbonne and Cambridge.  There he lived under the watchful eye of his keepers. Back then he had wished to have a more complete exposure to the Western style of college experience.  In its favor, at least back then he never had to drag a passed out female stranger from his bed to be able to go to sleep.

 

This might prove to be one of his more trying assignments. Doubts niggled in the back of his mind that this might not be the best assignment to start with after his recent difficulties. "Shut up," he snarled to that little voice which, not surprisingly, sounded a lot like Napoleon.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Monday morning, Alexander Waverly sat at his desk, relaxing with a freshly packed pipe, smoke gently swirling over his head. A new stack of morning reports were neatly arranged in order of priority for his review as he organized his day. THRUSH seemed to be coming out of a lull in activity and would require careful monitoring.

 

The head of U.N.C.L.E. New York had no qualms that Napoleon Solo could keep tabs on the reports and the agents on assignment. The man would also have full access to him on his trip to Europe for any communication if it was necessary and the other various Heads of U.N.C.L.E. would be in regular contact with Solo.

 

An hour and a half later Waverly called in the Chief Enforcement Agent for their daily meeting to go over the status of each field report and actions to be taken.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

"Good morning, Mr. Waverly," Solo said smoothly on his arrival. He accepted the nod he received as a return greeting as he set his own stack of files near Waverly's station on the huge round desk.

 

The two men got down to work right away.

 

"Since this is my last week before my family reunion I'm going to let you take the lead more." Waverly explained the details of the role he wanted Solo to assume in changing from observer to actual interaction for the remainder of the time until he was to leave.

 

The first three agent reports and in person updates went smoothly. As they were about to begin the fourth review Lisa Rogers buzzed Waverly.

 

"Sir. You asked to be informed when Javier Ponce arrived," she told them.

 

"Yes. Quite. Send him in," he instructed her.

 

Napoleon immediately bristled but remained still. He discovered on Friday that this was the man Illya had dinner with and therefore the date Napoleon was jilted for.

 

Javier walked in smiling and stood at the end of the table wondering what Waverly wanted since he was leaving for Puerto Rico today. "You wanted to see me before I go, sir?" he said pleasantly.

 

"Yes, Mr., erm, Ponce. I've spoken with your superior in the Caribbean and you are to be on loan to us here in New York for a while. I am to be out of the country for a time and I'm putting our Chief Enforcement Agent, Mr. Solo here," he said as an introduction to Solo as well as explanation, "in my seat while I am gone. You are to fill the absent space in our roster of agents during that time."

 

Javier raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Certainly, sir," he replied, pleased to have a new set of surroundings for a while. Besides, it would give him a chance to get with Illya again. The man was amazingly limber and had turned out to be an excellent lover. It had surprised him a little since people thought the Russian lived the existence of a monk. He now knew from experience that Illya might not jump from bed to bed like his womanizing partner, but the gorgeous Russian proved the idea that quality far outranked quantity.

 

Waverly passed the next file to Napoleon with the details of the back up assignment now that Mr. Kuryakin's case was developing new information. "After some consideration, I decided you were right about Mr. Kuryakin needing a more formal backup, Mr. Solo. Please inform Mr. Ponce of the details of the case.  He will be Mr. Kuryakin's support for this mission."

 


	14. Chapter 14

Illya pictured his school schedule in his mind to ascertain where to go next. His first class of the day had been basic physics. He'd been bored to tears and had to hold his tongue quite a bit. The professor was knowledgeable enough and Illya had no issue with the material. It wouldn't do for a first year student to know the answers to all the questions, though. He would stand out and call attention to himself, the biggest rookie mistake an agent could make when undercover. He was no rookie.

 

His second and last class for the day started at 12:30, which was . . . he checked his watch . . . thirty minutes from now. Plenty of time to get to the correct building and room. He headed in that direction. Keeping an eagle eye on his surroundings was second nature to him and only took a small part of his mind to do. The rest of his thoughts turned to his past college experiences. Georgian Technical University, Sorbonne, Cambridge. All elite universities, all uniquely different. In some ways he looked forward to seeing how this American university stacked up next to those powerhouses.

 

He peeked into the door of the classroom where a Dr. John Stillwell taught Soviet History. The room was empty so he slipped inside and took a seat in the back. At least this was a small classroom as opposed to the auditoriums in which he'd attended some of his classes in the past.

 

Other students trickled in as the minutes ticked by. Illya lowered his head just enough to make it look like he was reading the textbook open on his desk while still able to see and catalogue every person that stepped through the door. Louise came in with a gaggle of girls and sat in the front of the class. His heart skipped a beat when he saw another familiar but unexpected face.

 

_Damn!_ The nurse he'd known as Nancy from the psychiatric hospital where Kopf had held him captive stood just inside the doorway looking for an open seat. He relaxed slightly when her gaze moved over him with no sign of recognition. She had so many patients, one that spent a few days under her care probably would register no more than a slight hiccup in her memory.

 

Her eyes widened and her gaze jumped back to him. A smile of recognition crossed her face. "It's you!" she cried.

 

Illya cringed as the entire class—all ten of them--quieted at the outburst and looked in her direction. They followed her line-of-sight until ten pairs of eyes focused on him. _Blyat!_ " Mr. . . ."

 

Illya jumped up and hurried down to her. "Nancy!" he said before she could get his name out, all smiles and yanking her into a hug.

 

Nancy yelped at the unexpected gesture and tried to pull back. He held her tightly. "And none of that Mr. Grishuk stuff," he admonished. "I asked you before to call me Dima." He crushed her and her books to him, kissed her on both cheeks and then whispered, "I'm undercover. Please don't use my real name," into her ear.

 

Her breath hitched. "Ohhhh!" she breathed quietly.

 

Illya let her go and she self-consciously patted her hair back into place.

 

"Um, of course you did," she said. "Hello, M-Dima." She stumbled over the name. She smiled nervously. In her flustered state, the books in her arms shifting and slipping towards disaster. "Oh!" she yelped, making things worse as she tried to catch them.

 

Illya grabbed the top two books to keep them from falling, thus bringing even more attention their way. "Come sit next to me," Illya invited. He could stop her from saying something she shouldn't. Besides, her arrival on the scene of his first mission back from his mental distress caused by Kopf and his methods seemed a bit too coincidental. He hoped Waverly hadn't sent her in to keep an eye on him.

 

They took their seats and he glanced at her. "Why does a nurse need to take Soviet History?" he asked, hoping it sounded like he asked out of curiosity, not the flutter of fear he felt beneath his breastbone.

 

Her laugh sounded nervous. "It's all your fault, actually. When you were a . . ." She glanced around at the others, some of whom seemed to be listening in. "Um, a guest at our hotel, what I learned about you made me interested in finding out more. I was able to arrange my work schedule so I can be off on Monday and Wednesday to come here and take a couple of classes."

 

Any further conversation aborted when a silver-haired man entered the room and closed the door. Illya put him at about the same age as Mr. Waverly. His shoulders were slightly stooped not so much from age as from scholarly pursuits and sitting hunched over books for his research. Illya saw the same sort of bad posture on many of his professors over his student years. They were usually the best teachers, too, because they had a passion for their subjects. He wondered if that would prove to be the case here. He felt a small surge of interest stirring in an area of his psyche recently on lock down.

 

"Good morning, everyone," the professor said brightly, a genuine smile on his face. The smile drooped a little when he spied Illya. "I haven't seen you here before. You must be Mr. Grishuk."

 

"Yes, sir," Illya answered, automatically using the term of respect as he might have for Mr. Waverly. He immediately berated himself for it. American university students had no respect for their elders and seldom used such honorifics as "sir" and "ma'am." He supposed he could hide behind his Soviet upbringing. Most Americans thought anyone from the Soviet Union was a savage, though, and, again, it might bring unwanted attention. He made a note to be more careful with that in the future.

 

"If you don't mind, I'd like to see you after class so I may give you the syllabus and other handouts," Stillwell said, smile brightening once more.

 

Illya nodded.  

 

"Fine. Now, I'm sure all of you read the chapter I assigned and can tell me all about the rise of Lenin," Stillwell launched into his lecture.

 

Illya let the lecture wash over him as he thought about Nurse Nancy and what her presence might mean. Her excuse for being there was a rather flimsy one. Even if what she said were true, it was highly unlikely she'd be taking this class at this time in this university. Months had passed since his incarceration in the psych ward of her hospital. Surely if she were that interested she'd have taken this class before now.

 

Illya now knew this mission would have to be a rousing success. Failure was not an option. If he didn't pull this off to his superior's exacting standards, there was no telling what would happen. Waverly might pull him out of the field permanently. Worse, he might send him back home.

 

Much as he loved the Soviet people and his country in general, Illya had come to truly hate the Soviet government and had no intentions of ever returning to that particular fold. If Waverly tried to send him back, he'd have to run. Of course he had planned for this eventuality the day he realized he would not return to the USSR if it ever came up.  Napoleon always called him cheap and he was right. Illya Kuryakin was a very frugal man. But a stupid one he was not. The money he saved on inexpensive soaps, clothes, and the other things Napoleon lavished upon himself, he put into a safety deposit box under yet another alias. The money nestled right next to several sets passports and docments establishing several different aliases.  He could disappear at a moment's notice if necessary.  

 

The slamming of books and sliding desk chairs brought Illya back to his present surroundings. He blinked, embarrassed and appalled that he'd allowed himself to drift off like that. What important bit of information might he have missed? Yes, it was doubtful he missed anything mission-related from the lecture. If this class had been an issue, Waverly would have ordered him to take it. Still, what if he drifted off like that when it could be important?

 

"Want to go have coffee and, um, talk?" Nancy asked him as she readied herself to leave.

 

He glanced at her. "No, thank you. I must speak with Dr. Stillwell."

 

She looked at the professor as he bent over his desk gathering some papers out of his briefcase. "That shouldn't take long. I can wait."

 

The last thing Illya wanted to do was spend time with the woman watching him for any psychological weaknesses. "I'm sorry. I have another class after this one," he lied.

 

Her face fell. Disappointed she wouldn't have much to report to the UNCLE psychiatrists, no doubt.

 

"Okay. Well, I guess I'll see you Wednesday, then." She picked up her books and marched out, head held high.

 

Illya sighed, relieved she was gone. He gathered his things and moved to Stillwell's desk.

 

Stillwell sat down and intertwined his hands, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "So, Mr. Grishuk. I can't help but wonder who pulled the strings?"

 

Illya kept a blank expression even as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Was his cover broken already? If so, he should start deciding exactly which crack in the world he wanted to slip into and hide. "I am not sure I understand what you mean," he said, purposely thickening his accent to sound a bit more like the bewildered immigrant.

 

"The semester is two weeks old," he said. "Class enrollment has been over for a week, yet you still manage to enroll. Someone had to pull a few strings for that."

 

"Oh," Illya said, keeping the relief from his voice. He'd realized this might come up and already had an answer. He waved the question away. "My uncle owns many dry cleaning stores. Very rich. He want me to come to university and get degree so I may get good job."

 

Stillwell's lips pursed in disapproval. "I see. Well, Mr. Grishuk, since you're Russian, Moscovite from your accent, I have to wonder why you're taking Soviet history."

 

Illya shrugged. "I needed one more subject and, as you say, I am Russian, so the advisor thought I take this class as a . . . a . . ." He acted as though he searched for the proper word. "Filler, I think she called it." He flashed a smile. "She thought I could use easy class."

 

The furrow between the professor's brow turned downward and his lips flattened into a thin line. "Since this will be such an easy class, you won't have a problem catching up. I'll allow the late work you've missed so far." He gave Illya a sharp look. "This time and this time only. Here's the list of assignments. I expect it all to be turned in by Wednesday."

 

Illya looked at the list of assignments. So far it mostly had to do with the end of the tsars and rise of Communism. There were three assignments but he could get them done in two days easily enough. He smiled again at Stillwell. "Thank you. I will give to you Wednesday." He slipped the papers into his binder, gathered everything up, and headed out the door.


	15. Chapter 15

Illya Kuryakin was a chameleon, able to change his appearance, his personality, his demeanor, to become a completely different person at the drop of a hat. And that was without any kind of makeup. Add a disguise to that and the handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed Russian became a Mongolian warlord. Top it off with Illya's cunning, downright scary ruthlessness, formidable intelligence, and his knowledge of, well, everything, it seemed, and there was little wonder Illya Kuryakin had managed to rise to the Number 2 spot of North America even with the handicap of being Soviet.

 

Javier, of course, was no slouch.  His style of working was different, but it got him almost as many results as Illya's garnered.  Javier's smile was his secret weapon.  This mode of working was as valid and effective as Illya's, just in a different way. He relied on his good looks, his charm, his wit, and his ability to think quickly on his feet to carry him through to successful missions. Very much like Illya's partner, Napoleon Solo. The man who held the Number ONE spot in North America. Napoleon's success fueled Javier's desire and goal to one day hold a Number One spot of his own, perhaps in Europe.

 

Not that he would mind taking over Napoleon's position, but only if it became vacant due to Solo's promotion to Section One and not because the CEA of North America was killed in action. He hated to think what that would do to Illya. Quite frankly, he wouldn't want to be the one to have to pick up those pieces. There would just be too many of them. Illya was a cold bastard, but when it came to his partner . . . well, partners were different. Just as the block of ice he portrayed, if something hit it in just the right place, he had a feeling Illya would shatter.  Helping keep the Russian together when he exploded with pleasure at a lover's touch like he had last night was something Javier not only could handle, but enjoy.  Putting together the pieces of a man broken from the loss of his partner was something else altogether and not something Javier wanted to deal with.  

 

But no one was shattering in either way at the moment, more's the pity on the former mode, and he had a job to do--keeping Illya Kuryakin informed and protected while in his undercover role. It was a dangerous game Illya played, more so than Javier's own as backup, and the Puerto Rican agent was determined to make sure they both made it out of this mission alive, injury free, and with a big success under their belts.

 

So he employed his secret weapon. He sauntered into a diner frequented by the university students within an hour of one of their servers calling in to quit. He didn't ask how or why U.N.C.L.E. managed to get the person to quit. He was always afraid the answer would prey on his conscience. But he had a job to do and he planned to do it with style.  He turned his smile on high brightness towards the older, harried looking woman behind the counter. The diner was full to capacity with people eating breakfast and the woman appeared to be the only one trying to fulfill every customers dreams of pancakes and coffee.

 

She gave him a strained grimace even as she blushed and preened under the brilliance of the Latino man's pearly teeth. "I hope you don't mind sitting at the counter," she said, indicating the only empty chair in the place. It happened to be right next to the register. "But we're all full up otherwise."

 

Javier looked around, letting his smile dim to medium wattage.  "You are very busy. You trying to take care of this crowd all by yourself?" he asked as he sat down, making sure his accent was heavy enough to be noticed but not so heavy as to be understood.  He saw her perk up at the sound of his voice. American women tended to love his accent.  Another damned good weapon in his arsenal, at least outside of his homeland.  

 

She nodded. "I'm afraid so. My other waitress quit just this morning." She held up a pot of coffee in a silent question. At Javier's nod, she turned over the clean cup sitting upside down on a saucer and poured.

 

Javier pulled a stained menu card from the little metal holder on the counter. "Perhaps God led me in here today, then."

 

She paused in the act of putting the coffee pot back on the burner and turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

 

"I was just stopping in here to have a little something to eat before I went out to look for work. The fact I stepped into the diner that is in desperate need of help seems like Divine guidance, does it not?"

 

The woman regarded him seriously, hand on her hip. "We've never had a man waiting tables in here before. Still, it might not be a bad idea to have a handsome man doing it. Bring in the working ladies, ya know?"

 

He turned up the wattage in his smile just a bit, pleased to see her melt a little. "There is a first time for everything, no? I used to wait tables for my uncle in his little place in Puerto Rico. I am perfect for the job."

 

She wavered as she looked around at the clambering customers. "Tell you what. If you can stick around until this crowd leaves, we'll talk about it."

 

_Gotcha._ Javier kept the triumph from his grin. She would be like putty in his hands now. "I will do you one better," he said, standing up. "If you have an extra apron, I will help take orders and deliver food. That way you can see what you're getting."

 

She stared at him hard before reaching under the counter and pulling out a pink bundle. She tossed it at him. "Here ya go." She waved him behind the counter. "Pads and pencils are under the register. Let's see what you can do. By the way, do you have a name? I would rather not be yelling 'Hey you!' across the diner all afternoon."

 

Javier sighed and put on the apron. Did it have to be pink? "I'm Javier," he said forcing his smile not to droop. He shook his head ruefully. The things he did for U.N.C.L.E. Illya would never let him hear the end of this.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

 

With the majority of the day spent with Waverly, Napoleon didn't have much time to think about personal matters. He tried to avoid thinking too much about what was going on with Illya's mission although it nagged at him the whole time. Now that he was back in his own office doing reviews he had a moment to reflect on what was transpiring at the college.

 

Napoleon knew that Javier Ponce was in place at the cafe. If it had been anyone but that man, Napoleon would be happier. He considered telling Waverly that a personal involvement might be detrimental to the case but he felt a little awkward and didn't want to use that as an excuse, especially since Illya could cite chapter and verse of the times his American partner had done the same thing,.  Maybe mentioning it to Illya may be a good idea.

 

The thought of being belted into a chair behind a desk while Illya was out in the field didn't sit well with Napoleon. He hadn't envisioned Illya being returned to field duty so quickly. Had expected to be out from behind this desk by the time Illya was released by the doctors. He imagined the two of them out there side by side. Napoleon wanted to be the one to give him comfort and support when the time came. He couldn't stand the thought of another man taking his place, at Illya's side or in Illya's bed. That it was Ponce doing both made him grit his teeth.

 

Quickly Napoleon shook his head to try and focus on the job in front of him. He took a deep breath and moved the papers around on his desk to try and get back to what he was supposed to be doing. Why the ungrateful little Russian infuriated him the way he did was beyond Napoleon's comprehension and he refused to let it get in the way of his job.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Illya carried his books with him as he walked toward the apartment complex. The rumble in his stomach reminded him that he'd skipped lunch in favor of visiting the library. He thought of the multitude of pizza boxes and fast food wrappers in the kitchen of his new residence and decided that eating out might be safer. The local cafe seemed to be popular with the students and it was on the way to the apartment he shared with Olaf and David.

 

The place was quaint, almost as old as parts of the school. The facing of the sign out front was cracked with a small piece of the glass missing, exposing the florescent tube backlighting. The paint on the wood framed windows flaked, exposing multiple layers of green under gray under white. Once white mortar was dingy and chipping and the red-brown brick stained with time.

 

As Illya entered through the glass and aluminum door marked, "pull to open," he was greeted with the rich scent of real food. Even though Napoleon never failed to remind him that he was no gourmet, Illya knew food. He could distinguish the aroma of macaroni and cheese, beef pot roast, and fried chicken. Dishes that probably made the place such a Mecca for students away from home as well as the reasonable prices posted on the specials board.

 

While he glanced around for a seat, since it looked to be a _find a chair and sit down yourself_ place, he spied a familiar form pouring coffee at the end of a booth. A lean but well-built Latino wearing, of all things, a pink apron. He refrained from smiling and moved over to the counter where a couple girls vacated the stools and leaving. Moments later, Javier came over with a cloth to wipe the counter down and remove the milkshake glasses.

 

"Welcome. Can I get you something to drink?" Javier asked and then slid the menu card in front of Illya. "I recommend the meatloaf."

 

It was hard to keep a straight face. Illya took the menu and glanced at it, but took Javier's advice. "Meatloaf it is. And hot tea please."

 

Javier wrote the ticket and slipped it onto the clip in the window connecting to the kitchen. After filling a stainless steel teapot with hot water, he returned to Illya with a fresh cup and saucer and a teabag on a string. He looked at the books on the countertop next to Illya's arm. His face scrunched as he spied the physics book on top of the pile. "Fun class?" he asked, indicating the subject matter.

 

Illya shrugged. "I have a bit of catching up to do. I registered late."

 

"Good luck with that," Javier said. "Are you staying on campus?" he asked making conversation that would sound normal to everyone there. The urge to flirt was strong but he resisted. They were on a case, after all.

 

"I was lucky. I found a room in an apartment nearby. It suits my budget."

 

Javier nodded. "I need to find a place too. What's it like there?"

 

"The place I'm staying is full," Illya said, "But I heard there are some empty places on the floor above mine."

 

"I'll have to check that out. Which complex are you living in?"

 

"In the Huntington Mills Apartments. I'm in unit 315. You should come see me if you move in. I could use a new friend."

 

Javier's genuine smile reached all the way to his eyes. "I'll do that."

 

"Order up," came a voice from the back as a platter was placed on the pass through.

 

Javier moved to the window between the front and the kitchen to find Illya's meatloaf waiting. He brought the plate over to Illya and set it in front of him. It was a good sized portion with mashed potatoes, gravy, carrots, and a fresh roll. "I have to admit they have good food here."

 

Illya took a whiff of the steaming plate. It was nothing fancy but it smelled delicious. He watched Javier get back to work and ate his meal in peace. The quality of flavor and quantity of food was something he wasn’t expecting. Normally food was just something to fill his belly and he cared not whether it was a fine grade of caviar or the humblest of canned spam. This, however, was good enough to remember. Unfortunately, he would probably remember it most when locked in some THRUSH cell with nothing to eat.  At least it would be a pleasant memory.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gasolineandgold you might want to get your hand ready. I have a feeling some slaps may be coming on in the next few chapters. :p

Music blared through the open window. On a sofa the big Swede Olaf sat with his feet propped on the corner of the coffee table and an ashtray on the arm of the couch holding the off-cast ashes from his last joint.

 

Olaf finished his reading, a chapter of his book "Only Victims - A Study Of Show Business Blacklisting", required reading for one of his classes. It wasn't the kind of book he liked but he was keen about keeping his grades up.

 

Across from him at their small dining room table David busily scribbled notes for his next chemistry class. He was a natural with a lot of potential in the field. The chip he carried around on his shoulder never got in the way of his brilliance although some teachers in the past warned him about his attitude.

 

“David. Chill out, man,” Olaf called out. “I got some stuff coming over. We’re going to party tonight.”

 

“I’ll be done in a minute. Just don’t bug me,” David said and scrawled in his notebook. The scratching of the pencil against the grain of the paper was harsh and gave away the intensity with which it was being used.

 

“What are you worried about? You always get top marks. You can pass with your writing arm tied behind your back.”

 

David ignored Olaf as he finished making his notes. He wanted to be done by the time Johnny arrived. The guy always had so many good ideas.

 

Both Olaf and David turned their heads and looked up when the doorknob turned. The guys in the apartment had an open door policy. Almost no one knocked. Almost no one was turned away. Especially someone that might be bearing possible gifts of booze or smoke.

 

Illya walked in and stopped, momentarily surprised by their attention. “Sorry. Was I supposed to be here earlier for something?” he asked.

 

David went back to silently scratching out his notes. He wasn’t the friendliest of people and didn’t care to introduce himself to the new roommate.

 

Olaf stood and walked over to Illya’s small form. He put an arm over the little guy’s shoulder and dragged him further into the room by sheer mass of his bulk.   “No problem, man. David is a little intense when he’s studying. Don’t mind him. You’ll like him when you get to know him. Takes about six months though,” he said and laughed at his own joke.

 

Illya glanced over at David who responded with a scowl through gritted teeth. He quietly said to the behemoth of a Swede, “I’ll keep my distance until then.”

 

Olaf shook him enough to make Illya hold tighter to his books so they didn’t fall to the floor. “He’ll loosen up shortly. I have a guy coming over with some really good stuff. Party time tonight.”

 

Illya wormed his way free of Olaf’s overly friendly contact. He was with David on the keeping distance idea. “I think I’ll stay in my room and study if you don’t mind. I have a couple papers to catch up on.”

 

“You have plenty of time. You need to meet people, make new friends here,” the big Swede insisted. “I’ll call you when Johnny gets here. You’ll see what I mean.”

 

Olaf watched Illya go down the hall to his room until the door in the living room opened again and a couple guys with a girl walked in. They brought two six packs, one of them already missing a bottle.

 

Over the next hour the apartment got more crowded and louder and louder. Illya wrote one of his papers in spite of the distractions. He hated parties and crowds but he remembered he had a job to do. With a grimace he forced himself to leave the room and join the party.

 

"Dima! You decided to party with us after all!" Olaf greeted. Four empty beer bottles littered the floor around his chair and the big man's eyes glittered with the beginnings of intoxication. "See, guys!" he said, gesturing to Illya as he glanced around the other revelers. "I told you he struck me as a wise man."

 

Several of the partiers cheered and clapped as one of the young men present pushed an opened bottle of beer into Illya's hand. "Better drink fast," he said with a grin. "You're way behind the rest of us already."

 

A girl sitting on the couch next to him giggled and eyed Illya appreciatively. "There's room to sit down here if you want," she invited, squishing everyone else on the couch over to make room for the newcomer.

 

Illya plastered a smile on his face and squeezed in next to her. He took a large gulp of the beer, trying not to grimace at the taste. As a general rule he didn't care for American beer, much preferring English ales or German lagers. The things he did for the well-being of the world.

 

A number of new faces appeared and one of them caught Illya’s eye. Johnny Austin. The dark haired, dark eyed young student came in with another girl to add to the seven other people already there.

 

“Hey. The star of the party is here,” Olaf announced. “Did you bring us a present?”

 

Johnny smiled and acted nonchalant. “Olaf, man. You wound me by even asking,” he said, feigning offense. Then he smiled and pulled out a clear cellophane bag with some greenish brown plant. He passed it over. “Share the wealth man.”

 

Within the next ten minutes three fat joints were rolled and lit. Illya watched as Johnny gravitated from the main group to David, who was helping himself to a beer in the kitchen. He followed and attempted to slip by the two of them to get a glass of water, intending to eavesdrop, but Johnny invited him over by offering the joint he was smoking.

 

Illya raised a hand to reject the offer but before he could utter "no thank you," he heard a familiar voice at the door.

 

"Say. I'm looking for Dima. Anyone seen him?" Javier said.

 

The blond agent stuck his head out from the kitchen doorway. "Hello. I'm over here."

 

"Friend of yours, Dima?" Olaf asked over the rumble of the music while inviting the Hispanic to come in.

 

Illya walked over to them. "I met him in the cafe today. I told him there was another apartment open in the building and he wanted to come have a look."

 

"Close enough," Olaf said and thrust a beer into Javier's hand.

 

Javier smiled. "Thanks, man. Nice digs you got here."

 

"Yah... it's a cool building. Most everyone knows everyone here. You attending the school this year?" Olaf asked.

 

"Graduated last year with a BA in Communications. I'm taking a year off to find myself before I get serious about a job," Javier explained. "Lucked out and got work at the diner. That will keep me in beer and burgers for awhile."

 

The three men laughed at the joke. Olaf offered the joint he'd just taken a drag from. Javier appeared a little uncertain but took a hit off the joint and passed it on to Illya. On assignment they sometimes had to use recreational drugs in order to blend in. Compared to most, marijuana was pretty harmless. Besides, the cocktails THRUSH usually injected them with was so much worse than weed.

 

"Let me introduce you to a few of my new friends," Illya said. He puffed on the weed and passed it back to the Swede. "This is Olaf. He lives here with David," who he pointed to in the kitchen. Then he started introducing a few of the people he'd met as they came in.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon Solo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change. It seemed like every traffic light was out to get him as he drove toward the college. As Waverly would do on occasion, Napoleon thought checking in on his agents was within his duty.

 

The mission wasn't deemed urgent. Illya was out in the field and, although he had back-up, Napoleon didn't like the idea that it was someone he didn't know well. Javier had a clean file. It didn't give Napoleon a sense of comfort though. Especially since things weren't going the way he'd planned. Of course, when plans involved Illya, they usually didn't.

 

A buzzing called Napoleon's attention to his communicator. He sighed at the long red light and picked up the pen-like radio device. "Solo here."

 

"Napoleon. You have a call coming in from a Nurse Nancy. She would like you to call her back. She insisted she must speak to you," Jordan in the communications office said. "Will you reply or would you like us to take a message from her?"

 

Nurse Nancy? He thought back to the hospital rescue and remembered her vividly. She was very pretty and he enjoyed their dinner together after he'd recovered Illya from Kopf's clutches.

 

"No. I have her number. I'll call her myself," he said. "Solo out." He turned the communicator back into a pen and tapped it on his lip. He should call her before going to see Illya. He'd make a date with her then casually mention it to Illya. Let Illya be on that end of things for a change. He nodded, liking the idea even better the more he thought of it.

 

He glanced around the street for a nearby pay phone. His luck held as he spied one on the corner by the next light. As luck would also have it--and it usually did--a parking spot opened up just a few feet away from the phone. The light finally turned green and, with a smile, he drove to the spot and slid in easily.

 

After checking his rear view for oncoming traffic, Napoleon got out and sauntered to the phone booth. He surveyed his surroundings as he stepped into the glass booth to make sure no enemies lurked about. He hated these phone booths. They made him feel like a sitting duck for anyone with a gun and a grudge. Sometimes it was a necessary evil, though. Like now.

 

He pulled a little black book from his inside jacket pocket and looked up Nancy's number before dropping a dime into the phone and dialing. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. He frowned at the phone. If she just called him she should be home.

 

"Hello?" came Nancy's bell-like voice from the other end. She sounded slightly out of breath as though she'd been in a hurry.

 

"Hello, Nancy," Napoleon purred, his own voice dropping into the seductive register. Something as natural as breathing for him whenever he spoke with a woman.

 

"Napoleon!" Nancy gushed, recognizing him instantly. "I'm so glad you called."

 

Napoleon smiled to himself. He knew he was memorable. Every woman he'd ever dallied with thought so. Now if only Illya would realize it. "I understand you needed to talk to me? Something about an urgent matter?"

 

"Yes! I'm taking a college class and I saw Illya in one of them today," she started in a worried tone.

 

Napoleon grimaced. It was obvious she was concerned about Illya. Did something happen already? He knew sending Illya out so quickly was a bad idea. Now he wanted to get together with her for an added reason. He needed evidence to convince Waverly to pull Illya before it was too late. "Ah," he interrupted before she could say anything more. "This isn't a secured line. Why don't we get together for dinner tonight and discuss it?"

 

"Oh, um, okay. I guess we can do that."

 

"Great. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty."

 

"All right. See you then."

 

Napoleon told her goodbye and hung up. He had no clue what she might want with Illya but at least it gave him an excuse to get a date with her. It would drive Illya crazy.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Johnny took a hit off the doobie while he watched the new guy wander away to greet his friend, thus leaving them alone in the dining area. "So, David," he said, his voice strangled by the smoke he held in his lungs. He finally released his breath with a hacking cough, the sweet scented pot smoke puffing out. "Have you thought anymore about going to work with my Dad once you've graduated?"

 

"Yeah, about that." David accepted the joint from the other boy and tapped the ashes into an empty soda can on the table. "I'm gonna have to pass. I think I can make more money in the private sector." The end of the joint glowed red as he took a long drag off it.

 

_"Shit!"_ Johnny mused. He wondered not for the first time if his Dad had ESP or something. Maybe he'd been in one of those experiments it was rumored the Soviets were conducting on psychic ability. He had to have known David would turn down the offer. Otherwise he wouldn't have wasted the special pot on this.

 

Johnny wasn't concerned about smoking the laced weed himself. He knew of its slight hypnotic effects so it didn't really work on him. For someone unaware of the extra punch contained in the marijuana, though, it was pretty effective.

 

He waited until the joint was gone before he said anything again. The effects should be kicking in about now. "David, you should re-think your decision not to join my Dad's company," he said, his tone low and soothing. He wasn't a psychology major for nothing. "You'll be happier with his organization and you know you'll make more money. The private sector only pays a little better but it's a lot more unstable."

 

"I don't know," David said dubiously.

 

Johnny felt he was pretty good at talking people into things when he really wanted to but David was just as good at resisting manipulation. Of course, the problem might be that Johnny didn't really want to talk David into this. He wasn't at all sure it was the best thing for the other boy. If he didn't succeed, though, he was completely sure it wouldn't be the best thing for himself. His father could be harsh in his punishments. Johnny would do anything to avoid them. "Seriously. My father has been with his organization for twenty years. In that time he's been promoted several times and now holds a high office. He makes more money now than someone who holds a similar office in the private sector."

 

"Maybe," David said slowly, eyes glazed a little from the drug-laced pot. "But I want good money now."  

 

His words seemed to indicate more resistance, but his tone of voice and the slightly blank look on his face let Johnny know the hypnotic was working. It wouldn't take much now to push him over the edge. "You gotta look at the long term aspects of it. Making a little more now but after five years in the same old job you'll be so bored you'll probably be looking for another one. Then you'd be starting over with a different company but probably the same job. Bored again.

 

"On the other hand, my father's organization is really big. There's so many chances for not only advancement, but for variety. They really reward extremely smart guys like you with other stuff, too. Trips, cars, boats...if you do well for the organization they give huge rewards."

 

"Yeeeaaahhhh," David mused, eyes glazed and a little unfocused. "You're right. I never really thought about that." A beautific smile crossed his face. "I'm in!"

 

Johnny sighed in relief. He hated lying to the guy, but he would do almost anything to finally win his father's approval. It seemed like no matter what he did, Dad would give him that look that screamed, "DISAPPOINTMENT!"

 

He simply couldn't fail this time. He'd managed to get Matt convinced. By bringing David on board, maybe his father would finally realize his son was worthy of his love.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the smacking continue. gasolineandgold, you may want to get a baseball bat for this one.

Illya took a hit of any joint that was passed to him, paying more attention to what appeared to be a serious conversation between David and Johnny. He could read lips somewhat, but neither boy was in a good position for him to catch too much of it. David said something about the private sector.

 

Illya frowned. Could this Johnny kid be a THRUSH recruiter or was it just a conversation about the future between two college buddies? Johnny didn't look like the typical THRUSH. His eyes had a sadness in them, but no flinty or maniacal gleam so common in almost every THRUSH he'd ever met, especially the recruiters.

 

Yet another joint was thrust in front of his face, drawing his attention away from the scene at the dining table. His eyes crossed slightly as he looked at it.

 

"Hey!" said the girl next to him. "What ya starin' at?"

 

Illya pulled his gaze to her overly made-up face and forced a smile. "Nothing. Just . . . how you say . . . space in."

 

She giggled. "You mean spacing out." She pushed the lit joint into his fingers. "Smoke up."

 

Illya took the illegal cigarette and took yet another shallow toke. He'd been so intent on trying to decipher David and Johnny's conversation, he hadn't realized just how high he was getting. A lot if the buzzing in his head was anything to go by. And he was really, really hungry.

 

He couldn't go out to get something because he needed to stay and keep an eye on David and Johnny. Maybe there was something edible in the kitchen. That would get him closer to the two boys' conversation, too. As an added bonus it would get him away from the annoying girl sitting next to him giving him googly eyes, as Napoleon would call it.

 

"Someone should go get us some pizza!" one of the partiers piped up.

 

"Yeah!" everyone agreed.

 

"Who's gonna go get it?"

 

"It's traditional for the newest member or members of our little group to go," said Johnny, a glint in his eye as he regarded Illya. "That means Dima and Javier should do it."

 

"Sure. We can go," Javier said. "Come on, Dima. We'll take my car."

 

The look in Johnny's eyes set off a small alarm in the back of Illya's head. Nothing major, but something wasn't quite right. Still, he was really hungry and it was his and Javier's responsibility to get the pizza. Illya stood and followed Javier out of the apartment never once wondering why he so willingly let himself be distracted from his mission.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon read the number on the side of the building. Finally. He thought he'd never find Illya's new apartment. As he pulled into a parking spot he saw two men walking towards the parking lot. Napoleon would know his partner's walk anywhere. He scowled as he recognized the dark Latino man walking next to said partner.

 

Jealousy reared its ugly head when he saw Illya give Javier a wide smile. Illya parceled out his smiles judiciously. Even then it was usually a fleeting thing, gone almost as soon as it appeared.   The real smile, the uninhibited one that so seldom saw the light of day . . . Napoleon claimed it. It was HIS, by god. Illya sleeping with Javier was bad enough. Giving that smile to the Latino hustler hit Napoleon almost like a betrayal.

 

The jealousy twisted, mutating into anger. What the hell did Illya think he was doing? He had a mission to do and screwing around with that Puerto Rican bastard wasn't a part of it. Since he was taking Waverly's role at the moment, he had every right to give both men a severe dressing down. Perhaps even put a reprimand into their files.

 

He stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Napoleon seldom pulled rank on his partner. Well right now they weren't working as partners and Napoleon had no problem reminding the Russian agent exactly who had the power in this relationship.

 

<><><><><><>

 

Illya saw Napoleon the moment the sedan pulled into the parking space. What was he doing here? Had something happened to Mr. Waverly? Doubtful. If that was the case, Napoleon would have used the communicator rather than drive all the way out here. Perhaps Napoleon drove out because he missed his partner?   As much as he liked Javier, what Illya really wanted was an exclusive relationship with Napoleon. He'd only gone out with the Latino because Napoleon wanted to play the field. Could Illya's recent dalliances with Javier have made Napoleon rethink the idea of sharing? A frisson of hope made Illya's heart stutter.

 

"Hello Illya. Mr. Ponce," Napoleon greeted in a deceptively mild tone. He flashed a hard smile that was all teeth.

 

It reminded Illya of the time he'd seen shark's teeth up close and personal. Napoleon slid his hands into his pants pockets. Illya recognized the signs and his hope died. Stupid of him to think Napoleon would want to try a faithful relationship, anyway. The man couldn't commit to anything with the exception of the U.N.C.L.E. This was no casual visit. There would be no declarations of love and devotion. His partner was checking up on him.  

 

Anger flushed through his veins, replacing his blood with an ice so cold it burned. "Why are you here?"

 

"I think the question is, 'what are YOU doing?'" Napoleon's narrowed gaze shifted pointedly from Illya to Javier and back to Illya. "You're on a mission."

 

"I do remember that," Illya snapped a little too loudly. He glanced around, glad no one else was nearby. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "It seems you may have forgotten, however. You're going to blow my cover."

 

Napoleon's shark-like smile didn't change. "Where are you two off to? A motel?" he sneered.

 

"We don't need a motel," Javier couldn't seem to help interjecting. "Illya's got roommates, but my apartment is only one building away and I live alone."

 

Napoleon turned his glare on the Latino. Javier wisely stepped back a bit, signaling he was going to stay out of the discussion now. Napoleon returned his angry attention back to his erstwhile subordinate. "You know better than to distract yourself with sex while on a mission."

 

Illya barked out a brittle laugh. "That's a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, is it not?"

 

Napoleon's smile finally faltered. "I don't know what you mean."

 

"Marcy, Irene, Darla, Joanne, Phillipa, Clementine, . . Need I go on?"

 

"You can add Nancy to that list," Napoleon said smugly.

 

Illya's eyes narrowed. "Nancy?"

 

Napoleon grinned, pleased to have irritated Illya. His turn. "As in Nurse Nancy from the sanitarium." His grin faded slightly and he felt a little guilty when Illya's breath hitched and fear flashed through Illya's eyes before they reverted to the blank stare he used when something really bothered him.

 

"I should have known," Illya muttered. "She's pretty and you could never keep it in your pants around a pretty woman."

 

The American's jaw ground in suppressed rage. "Jealous?" Good!

 

Illya glanced at Javier--who looked to be trying hard not to listen in on the conversation. A tough thing for an agent. He moved closer to Napoleon and pitched his voice low so Javier couldn't hear. "Not at all. There's no point in getting jealous at this point, Napoleon. You've been that way since the day we met and I've finally had to accept it whether I like it or not. I just wish you could refrain from dating people who are so intimately involved in my life. I don't like the idea that I might be the subject of conversation."

 

Napoleon flushed slightly. "You certainly have a high opinion of yourself if you think the only thing Nancy and I have to talk about on a date is you." The problem was they _would_ be talking about Illya.

 

"You never seem to have much to talk about on dates from what you've described to me in the past," Illya snarled back.

 

"Fine," Napoleon finally ground out, covering his guilt with anger. "You just go ahead to Ponce's empty apartment and fuck your brains out. But if you make one slip-up." He stabbed a finger in the air. "Just one, and I'll pull your ass out of the field so fast it will make your head spin."

 

He flung open his car door, got in, and slammed the door behind him. The car was backing up the moment the engine turned over. The spinning tires spit up gravel as Napoleon screeched out of the parking lot.

 

Illya had had no intention of having sex with Javier during the course of the mission. Now that Napoleon planted the idea, Illya found it difficult to not think about it. Apparently the idea took hold with Javier, as well, if the heated gaze he ran over Illya's body was any indication.

 

"My place?" Javier asked, his accent edged with need and desire.

 

Illya wondered why he'd thought this was a bad idea in the first place. As he'd pointed out, Napoleon did this sort of thing during missions all the time. "Your place."

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

The plane settled on the tarmac and moments later the door opened, letting in the fresh American air. Ivan Dobrolubov walked out onto the step and inhaled his first breath from his new homeland. It was a momentous occasion but he couldn't pause to savor the feeling as others behind him were anxious to deplane.

 

Ivan was a man of average height and build with dark hair who would not stand out in a crowd. His 32 years had seen many changes in his homeland where he grew up the son of a peasant woodcutter. Work was scarce and with younger siblings, four brothers and three sisters, needing to be fed, he took a job as a guard at a gulag to help his family make ends meet. Even with the lack of proper schooling he was smart and taught himself much, reading all the books he could lay his hands on. He was also cunning and used that to make contacts and take advantage of those when opportunity struck.

 

Like when Andreov asked him to train Illya Nicovich in marksmanship. A good move for him both personally and career-wise. Illya was easily the brightest boy he'd ever met. Also one of the most tenacious. An excellent student and, eventually, a good friend. Ivan still felt the hole left over from Illya's absence even after so many years. He had worried about what had happened to his young friend when he'd disappeared. Worried enough to ask; a dangerous proposition in the USSR. As it usually happened in the Soviet Union, no answers were forthcoming. So he'd pushed it to the back of his mind and only let it see the light of day when he felt particularly Russian.

He sighed and pushed aside his maudlin thoughts. He had his own boy to think about now with another child on the way. He'd taken the offered chance to move with his family to the United States for a deep undercover assignment as a defector and he planned to make the most of it.

 

After a long walk through customs and then immigrations where his papers were scrutinized, Ivan looked forward to building this new life with his wife, Irina, and their children. Irina and their son were already here, having left when the opportunity first presented itself. Ivan now followed after tying up some lose ends. When last he saw her she was barely showing with their second child. That was four long months ago and he couldn't wait to see his family.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Nancy spotted Napoleon pulling up in his sedan while she watched for him through the curtains in the living room of her small studio apartment. She quickly ran a brush through her shoulder length hair and slipped a head band in to keep it out of her eyes. Then she straightened her blouse and skirt, making sure the light pink fabric was evenly tucked into the waist-hugging A-line skirt that draped over her shapely hips. She hoped it would be appropriate for wherever Napoleon Solo planned to take her tonight.

 

The knock at her door caused her to catch her breath momentarily. Her voice wavered slightly as she called out. "Wh... ahem... Who is it?" She hoped she didn't sound too anxious.

 

"Tis I, Napoleon, your date for this evening, Miss Nancy," he said in a warm, casual tone. One that oozed of charm and romance.

 

She had to remind herself of why she called him in the first place as her insides began to quiver. "I'll be right there," she called and glanced one last time into the mirror before reaching for her purse.

 

Napoleon heard a click behind him and saw an older lady poke her head out the door across the hall to look at him. He gave her a polite nod and gentle smile to let her know he was no threat as he waited for Nancy to come to the door.

 

A moment later Nancy opened her door and waved at the woman. "Hello, Mrs. Myers. How are you tonight?" she politely asked the nosy old lady.

 

"I'm good, Nancy. Are you going out tonight? You have school tomorrow," she reminded her as if she was her mother or someone else who had a right to say so.

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Myers. I shouldn't be late."   Nancy rolled her eyes at Napoleon as she turned away from her neighbor. She lowered her voice as she slipped her arm through his. "She's just a lonely old widow with nothing better to do than snoop in everyone else's business."

 

"I see," he said. He looked back over his shoulder at the grey haired lady and waved goodbye as they left.

 

Nancy thought about what she would say to Napoleon when they had the chance to talk. On the walk down to the car she couldn't help but go over in her mind the things she saw when Illya was in the mental hospital. She shivered thinking of the times he lost his temper to the point of having to be sedated. The injuries he inflicted with his bare hands on the orderlies. The pitiful way he left Dr. Kopf whimpering in pain with all the broken bones. The last she heard of the poor doctor he was still in Bellevue. The bones had been put back together but he walked with a limp and the fingers on one hand would never be straight again. He was locked away, undergoing treatment for his obsessions and they were still trying to diagnose him as he kept insisting he was there to treat the other patients in the mental ward.

 

"Nancy?" Napoleon asked as she stood there staring blankly at the car across the street from his. "Nancy!"

 

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said and gave him an embarrassed smile. "Just lost in thought," she added as she got into the car through the door he held for her.

 

"Let's hope I can be a better host for you tonight so you aren't bored then," he charmingly responded before closing the door. He trotted around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. "I hope you like French food. I have a lovely little restaurant in mind."

 

"Anything is fine," she said. "I enjoy all kinds of food. Am I dressed all right?"

 

"You look lovely." Napoleon smiled as he looked her over. "That shade compliments you well."

 

She blushed and was glad for the dim light to hide it.


	18. Chapter 18

The sex was good and very satisfactory. Illya and Javier lay naked next to each other in the bed, not touching or cuddling, each in his own little world of afterglow. Illya stared up at the ceiling, glancing around at the patches of peeling paint, and recalled why they were in such cheap lodgings.

 

"Javier?" he said.

 

"Yes?" the Hispanic man responded lazily.

 

"Do you do this often?"

 

"What do you mean? Have sex with acquaintances?"

 

Illya closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear the fogginess. "No. I mean go out of your way to have sex on an assignment."

 

Javier propped himself up on his elbows and interlaced his fingers. "Now that you mention it, I was kind of thinking about that myself."

 

"No offense intended," Illya said, turning his head to face Javier, "but I didn't intend on having sex with you again."

 

Javier smiled. "None taken. The date the other night was meant to be casual. I don't sleep around a lot on missions. We were both on our own time then. Besides I do have other ... acquaintances in New York." He knew Illya understood the meaning.

 

With a nod, Illya slid his feet off the side of the bed and sat up, pulling the sheet from his lap. He reached for his clothes. "I have to get back. I'm supposed to be watching the students."

 

"Sure man. I dig it." Javier joked in the tone of a hipster.

 

Illya paused to look at him strangely. "For a moment I thought you were one of them."

 

Javier threw the pillow at Illya's bare behind as the agent carried his clothes to the bathroom to clean up and dress. "Get out of here," he laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

The food had arrived and Nancy's eye sparkled in the candlelight as she admired her plate. "This looks wonderful."

 

Napoleon was pleased. He knew good food was as romantically intoxicating as wine. "I am happy to hear that. I've only been here a few times." He cut into his duck, which was still nicely pink and tender under the crisp skin. "So now if you'd care to discuss your problem I'd like to hear it since we are face to face and away from prying ears."

 

She was so worried earlier she'd skipped lunch and was very hungry. After a couple of mouthfuls the gnawing feeling in her stomach dissipated and she relaxed. "Yes. You know I ran into Illya today."

 

He nodded as he scooped up some of the herbed potatoes with his fork. "Yes. What about it?"

 

"Why is he in school? I met him in a European Studies course I'm taking on Russian History." She took a deep breath to calm herself as the shocking encounter re-alarmed her. "He... well... "

 

"Yes?" he asked as he paused to study her, searching for clues to what happened.

 

"Well, the way he acted frightened me." She let her shoulders slump, wondering if she'd been wrong to feel scared like that. "He told me he was on a mission but wouldn't let me talk and then he forced me to sit next to him." She wrapped her arms around herself for a moment. "He was almost talking like a crazy man," but she regretted saying it as soon as it was out of her mouth. "I mean... well, is he really on a mission? Is there some danger at the college I should know about?"

 

Illya was talking like a crazy man? Napoleon knew his partner wasn't fit for assignment yet. He also knew he should be the one in the field watching Illya's back. No one knew him like he did and could see if the agent was on the verge of a breakdown.

 

Quickly, Napoleon covered his worried expression with a smile. "No. There is nothing for you to worry about and I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to anyone else about it." He reached across the table and took her hand. Giving it a warm, reassuring squeeze his eyes twinkled at hers. "He is on assignment but it is nothing for you to be alarmed about. Honestly," he swore to her, giving her hand a positive shake, "It's just research. It is undercover though, so please play along with his assumed name and personality. There is nothing bad going on. I promise you."

 

"Really?" she asked innocently. "Under... undercover research?"

 

"Yes. Truly. You could do me a great favor though."

 

"Favor?" she replied. "What kind of favor?"

 

"I know that you understand what Illya went through recently. I want to make sure he is okay. You know the kind of thing I mean." He took a deep breath. "No lingering problems from what happened. If anyone can spot it early I'm sure you can. Would you do me that one little favor?"

 

Her warm brown eyes looked into his and the expression on his face made her melt the way all his women did when he gave them that look. "Just keep an eye on him?"

 

"Yes. That's all. Just let me know if you think he is having any problems so I can make sure he gets any and all the help he needs. Do you think you can do that for me?" He turned on all his charm and sex appeal at that moment. "Please?"

 

Bashfully she glanced down, averting her view from his eyes. The eyes that practically soaked up the soul and turned any woman to jelly. "I... I suppose I could."

 

She trusted Napoleon. After all it was he who came to Illya's rescue in the hospital. It was he who took care of him in the aftermath of the incident. It was he who was asking her to make sure the man was all right now. She knew he cared about his friend.

 

Nancy looked up again and smiled at Napoleon with the confidence he instilled within her. "You can count on me."

 

"Good girl," he said and let go of her hand. "Dessert?" he asked as they finished up their entrees.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Illya returned to his shared apartment to find the party still in full swing. Someone else brought pizza, he deduced from the empty boxes lying open on the table. The smell of marijuana still hung in the air along with the stale beer from the accumulating empties. It was nothing like his disciplined days in university under the watchful eyes of the KGB.

 

David's bedroom door was closed. Illya overheard the boy talking about an early class in the morning so it was likely that he was already in bed. Suddenly tired, Illya felt it was a good idea for him as well. Before he got sidetracked by the guys who were playing a game of checkers with shot glasses filled with spirits, he slipped down the hallway toward his bedroom.

 

On his way Illya paused and furrowed his brows as he bent down to pick up a black piece of cloth. As he rose with the object in his hand, held by a thin strap, it un-bunched to reveal a lacy brassiere. From under his bedroom door another piece of fabric poked out. When he opened it he could tell it was a tee-shirt. A creaking noise from the bed made him look over.

 

"What the hell are you doing, man?" a strange male voice asked.

 

Illya stared at the naked man on his back on his bed. Above him was a very naked girl, upright with her legs spread sitting on him. Covering her head was a small paper sack with two eye holes cut in it and a clown face drawn on the front.

 

Using his thick Russian accent again, Illya replied, "Pardon me. This is my room. That is my bed."

 

The girl remained silent but stared at Illya from behind the mask.

 

"Get lost, man. Can't you see I'm busy?" the boy said. "If you want to go to sleep go use the extra bunk in Olaf's room."

 

Illya stepped back and closed the door as the shoe tossed at him bounced off the nearby wall.

 

A thick arm heavily landing on his shoulder startled Illya but he caught his natural reaction to break it before doing anything rash.

 

"Don't worry about them," Olaf said in his loud, inebriated tone. "You can crash in the spare bed in my room."

 

"You are too kind," Illya replied, giving him a weak smile as he back-tracked to the other bedroom. What he saw there surprised him even more.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon left Nancy’s place in the wee hours of the morning, a satisfied smile on his face. All in all, a very successful evening for him. He had a pleasant evening with a decent conversationalist. Not as good as Illya, perhaps, but then, who was? Speaking of Illya, he also now had eyes in the college to help him keep track of his partner’s behavior. As an added bonus, he could let Illya know he wasn’t the only one stepping out of their relationship to get sex elsewhere.

 

If what they had going right now could be called a relationship. Napoleon didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. Unfortunately, if he wanted to have ANY kind of sexual relationship with his partner and best friend, he had to accept that Illya wanted to be with other people.

 

He grit his teeth. It wouldn’t bother him so much if Illya fucked women. He could understand that even if he didn’t like it. But for Illya to be with another man . . . Napoleon found himself thinking of the best way to off Javier without anyone realizing who did it. Not that he would do it, but thinking about it helped to keep the mind-bending jealous rage he felt at bay.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Bunk beds? Really? If he were back in the Soviet Navy he could understand. Space was at a premium on a submarine or a ship. He could even see it in a Soviet home. Twenty people might live in a small apartment. There, again, space was limited. But American homes, even apartments such as this one, were spacious beyond the average Soviet’s experience. Why would they need bunk beds? Especially bunk beds that looked like that one did.

 

Standing in the room against one wall was a beat up tattered sofa, worse for wear than the second hand couch in his own apartment. Built around the ends of the sofa was a wooden frame of random off cuts with a plywood platform. Wedged between the uprights was a second sofa that was practically a twin for the eyesore below it.

 

It looked none too steady. The idea of sleeping in the top of the thing didn’t exactly thrill him. Unfortunately, someone Illya didn’t know—one of the guests, he assumed--lay sprawled on the bottom bed. The boy was fully clothed, thank any god that might really exist. Legs dangled over the side of the bed, a can of beer held loosely in slack hands, propped on his chest. The can rose and fell with every loud inhale and exhale, continually threatening to fall and spill all over the sleeper, the bed, and the floor.

 

Illya sighed. The things he did in the name of saving the world. With a shake of his head he climbed onto the top of the rickety bunk and tried to settle down to sleep.

 

Normally the snoring of the other man wouldn’t disturb him, but that along with the thoughts running through his head kept him awake. The sex with Javier the first time was satisfying on a very superficial level, but it in no way gave him what he really wanted. He preferred being with Napoleon. His partner didn’t quite give him what he wanted, either, but it was close. He scowled, thinking that at the moment, he was sure Napoleon was giving it to that nurse.

 

Sometimes he wondered what he even saw in Napoleon. He was very American in thought and deed. A narcissistic playboy who threw a tantrum if the world refused to revolve around him. He was also a brilliant strategist, fair-minded, and as loyal as they came, at least when it involved friendship. Napoleon came through every time when Illya needed him. Illya trusted no one else to have his back as he did Napoleon.

 

When it came to love, though, Napoleon was terrified of commitment. Truth be told, Illya understood that. He, too, felt afraid of the idea of a committed love relationship. But he was willing to push through his fear in order to find out if he could find something to fill one of the many holes in his soul. Napoleon could not. Or, more likely, would not.

 

He turned in the cramped bed, berating himself for even thinking about it. He had no right to be upset. After all, he, too, was with someone else tonight. Someone he’d planned to never be with again. Not that he didn’t like Javier. He enjoyed the man’s company and respected him as an agent. But he had no emotional attachment to the Latino and wanted to keep it that way.

 

He seldom took on a steady lover. Too messy. Could give his enemies something to hold against him. That was something he did not need. He already had something floating around out there being held over his head.

 

He shifted again at the reminder of his diary. Why had he ever kept that damned thing! Even back then he knew it was a very bad idea. So why hadn’t he just burned the stupid thing?

 

He’d certainly had the chance. Somehow Uncle Alexei had convinced Sarkov to let the soon-to-be the U.N.C.L.E.’s first Soviet agent take a small holiday before he shipped out to the West. Five days with the Andreov family at their dacha twenty miles outside of Moscow.

 

The five days he spent with Anna and Sergei filled him with a happiness he hadn’t felt since he was a young child. He didn’t journalize the visit with his adopted family. He refused to sully the joy of the reunion with the realities of his life with the KGB. Instead he would bury the past twelve years there in the home of the three people in this world that loved him. Seemed appropriate, somehow. Maybe the purity of the hearts of Anna and Sergei would cleanse the vileness that lurked between the diary’s pages.

 

When they used to bring him there during the year he lived with them, he discovered a little hidey-hole of sorts in the bedroom they let him use. He noticed the loose floorboard every time his nine-year-old self would huddle in the closet whenever his nightmares became too much for him to bear. During one of his bouts of hiding he worked the floorboard open. The small space beneath hid a treasure trove of tiny toys and scrawled pictures. He’d left the little pile there and added to it over the course of that year.

 

Anna gave him his old room and he retired to it the first night after an evening of eating and getting to know his adopted family once again. Once alone, he popped open the floorboard in the closet. The little pile of treasure lay inside, undiscovered and undisturbed.

 

As Illya went through the items, he marveled at the difference between what his young self and what the previous child thought of as treasure. The first child left small, handmade toys and badly drawn pictures. His stash consisted of some gunpowder, a bullet, a book of poems, and the mummified remnants of an apple. And, perhaps most importantly, a chocolate bar; a reminder to always keep a tight hold on his sanity. He slipped his diary in with the other treasures nestled against the apple. Seemed appropriate for one rot to take its place beside another rot.

He had considered burning the small book but he just couldn’t. A part of him—probably the gypsy part—believed what peace of mind he did have would be destroyed if the diary ever came to harm. Stupid, he knew. Superstitious. Something his scientist’s soul objected to. Yet some of the things he had seen and experienced during his childhood visits to his grandfather and grandmother’s gypsy clan led him to believe not everything could be explained with science. Most, but not all. His gypsy family had taught him an open mind was necessary for a balanced life.

 

So the diary remained intact and so, hopefully, would his life. He had replaced the board, securing it so it would not be noticed by anyone else, ever.

 

Illya flipped onto his back as the memories replaced his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. He had to get that damned book back. Waverly left tomorrow . . . today, he amended. Maybe he could find a way to get over to the Old Man’s house and find it. He probably had it in a safe. He knew the security setup there so he should be able to get past it. No matter what, he had to risk it. He couldn’t allow the stupidity of a young man ruin what was left of the life he’d built here. He spent the rest of the sleepless night trying to work out the best way to get to it.


	19. Chapter 19

Alexander Waverly arose early as usual. Today, however, instead of going into headquarters, he needed to take care of a few things before his late afternoon flight. He looked over the clothes his housekeeper had set out for him to take on his trip. He picked up a black and red sweater and made a face. Where did this thing come from? The gift from the previous year’s “Secret Santa” at the office wasn’t his style at all. He had instructed Mrs. Hyde to give the hideous thing to the Salvation Army. Apparently she had ignored him.

 

He fingered the fine cashmere of the garment. At least the gift-giver had good taste. He wondered—for not the first time—if his Secret Santa had already bought the gift for Mr. Solo in the hopes of getting him for her gift recipient. It was certainly more like something the young man would wear in his leisure time. Mr. Solo liked his fine clothing, an affectation Waverly had reason to find displeasure in more than once. It was quite a drain on the U.N.C.L.E. budget when they had to replace Solo’s ruined suits. Waverly himself was more of an off-the-rack tweed suit sort of man. In that respect he was rather more like Solo’s partner, Mr. Kuryakin.

 

The thought of his Russian agent reminded him of the diary Kuryakin had kept as a young KGB trainee. Very stupid, that. Extremely sloppy spy craft. Of course, Kuryakin was a boy when he started the diary. After reading the diary, Waverly felt it highly likely the writing of the diary went a long way in keeping the boy sane in an insane situation. He shuddered at the thought of what those pages had contained. Insane situation, indeed.

 

Still, even if Mr. Kuryakin had good reason to write the diary in the first place, not destroying it when he had the chance was a huge mistake. Waverly glanced behind him at the painting that hid the safe where the diary currently nestled amid his important papers. He sighed and shook his head. A mistake he had decided to make, as well. As much as he should throw the diary in the fire and let it burn until it became just another pile of ashes, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do so.

 

If he couldn’t destroy it as he should, he needed to at least make sure it never saw the light of day again. It was not safe here in the house. Security could be circumvented. People bought and turned. That sort of thing. If THRUSH was ever able to get in there, they would surely discover the safe and find the diary. That would not just severely compromise one of his best agents, it could cause major difficulties within the ranks of the U.N.C.L.E. if the other Section I heads discovered just what they had in their midst.

 

Waverly trusted Mr. Kuryakin implicitly, but he knew the young man well. When Andreov first approached him about taking Kuryakin on, his Russian counterpart had told him what to expect. Waverly had been intrigued by the training Kuryakin had received and he felt what the young Russian could bring to U.N.C.L.E. far outweighed the possible stability issues. After all, Kuryakin was a part of the Soviet program attempting to make a super agent. U.N.C.L.E. could certainly use that kind of agent in its ranks. Andreov had assured him that his adopted nephew had some issues with psychologists, but was otherwise stable. Waverly took the young man on with the agreement that if he felt Mr. Kuryakin was more dangerous to U.N.C.L.E. than helpful, he would send him packing back to the Soviet Union.  

 

It turned out to be one of the best deals he’d ever made. Illya Kuryakin was resourceful, a master marksman, a polyglot, able to shed his own metaphorical skin and slip into that of someone else with ease. To top it off, he had an eidetic memory and an intelligence that edged on genius—if it didn’t cross that line. He had to circumvent the U.N.C.L.E. psych evaluation requirements, but in the years since the young Russian joined the U.N.C.L.E., Waverly had never had a reason to doubt the man’s sanity. As a matter of fact, he often thought Kuryakin to be one of the most sane people he’d ever met.

 

Which was why Waverly often wondered why Kuryakin had such a phobia when it came to U.N.C.L.E. psychologists. He didn’t seem to have a problem with enemy psychologists. Oh, he didn’t like them. Loathed them, in fact. Yet he seemed less fearful of them than he was of U.N.C.L.E. doctors. No matter how many times Waverly tried to convince his agent their own psychologists could be trusted, his agent adamantly held to the conviction they could not. After reading the diary Waverly now completely understood Mr. Kuryakin’s aversion. The very people the Russian boy should have been able to trust were the very ones that tried to destroy him. Yes, completely understandable.

 

He turned to regard the painting behind which the safe hid. Perhaps that, more than anything, was the reason both he and Mr. Kuryakin hesitated to destroy such a powder keg of a diary. Much as it went against good spy craft, he felt it was up to his agent to get rid of the book. Until then it needed to be kept very, very safe.

 

Waverly strode to the wall and took the painting off the wall. He put the proper sequence of numbers into the combination lock and opened the safe. He pulled the beat-up, stained little book from among the papers and slipped it into the large pocket of his tweed jacket. He closed the safe, scrambled the lock, and replaced the painting.  He moved to the bedroom door and opened it.

 

“Nadine!” he called for the head of his household staff. Now that his wife was dead, he relied heavily on her. 

 

An older, heavy set woman hurried into the hallway from another room and bustled towards him. “Yes, ducky?” she asked, her cockney accent still thick after all these years in America.

 

He smiled slightly at the nickname. She’d been with the Waverly family since Waverly was a small lad. He used to follow her while she worked. No matter how underfoot he got, she always treated him with respect and a smile. The nickname “ducky” just seemed to go with that. “I must run out for a bit,” he told her. “Could you please finish packing for me? Do not include the small stack on the side.” He waggled a finger at her. “You know how I hate that sweater.”

 

She smiled sweetly. “It would look darlin’ on ya. One o’ these days I’ll get-cha to wear it.”

 

“Highly doubtful.”

 

He donned his hat and snatched his cane as he made his way to the garage where his favorite roadster awaited him. The diary would be safe in the bank.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Ivan began his new life behind the counter at the bar owned and operated by a cousin from the old country. Towel tucked into his apron tie, he smiled and drew beers for the patrons. Little Russia was a comforting place to be, where he could hear his native tongue and the people were his people.  That was just the front of the house though. The face of Little Russia that the tourists saw. The back rooms were where the real business went on. The business out of sight from the police. High stakes card games. Illegal betting. What the police didn't see made far more money than selling alcohol in a neighborhood watering hole.

 

Opportunity gleamed in Ivan's dark eyes. Opportunity and ambition. He wasn't smiling at the customers as they thought. He knew that in America he was going to go somewhere. He was going to be king of Little Russia someday. Maybe even the New York underworld.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Illya shoved over some empty beer bottles to make room on the counter. He smeared jam onto toast for his breakfast. The pot one would normally use for tea had some strange liquid drying up in the bottom and he didn't want to take the time to clean it, nor the ambition to try, so he opened the fresh bottle of milk and had a glass of that. He felt safer in a THRUSH lab than he did in this kitchen.

 

A noise down the hall caught his attention and the, now dressed, female left his bedroom and closed the bathroom door behind her. He took the opportunity to go in and gather his books for class. When he returned to the kitchen he found her eating his toast and drinking his milk.

 

"Morning," she mumbled and smiled at him with blueberry lips.

 

"Good day." He could think of nothing else to say.

 

"You're new here, aren't you?" she asked.

 

He only looked at her as if studying a specimen.

 

"Olaf said you were the guy who answered the ad for a roomie. My name's Lindy. What's yours?"

 

"Il...er...Dima." He shook his head. He internally chastised himself. How could he be that careless? He took a deep breath and gathered his disguise in his mind. "Do you make that," he wiggled his finger toward his bedroom and the scene the night before, "sort of thing a habit?"

 

"Cory? Or the games?" she asked. A smile spread over her face but she didn't even blush.

 

He shook his head. "I think I better get going. I need to go to the library this morning.  Enjoy my breakfast."

 

"I will!" he heard her answer as he collected his books and left.  

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Javier was sitting under an oak tree enjoying the morning sun on his face. His diner shift wasn't until 10 so he had time to relax and observe the habits of some of the people on their watch list. He let out a soft whistle when he saw Illya approaching.

 

The area was clear so the Russian agent walked over and sat down on the grass beside Javier.

 

"Here," Javier said as he passed a paper sack to Illya.

 

"What is this?" Illya asked.

 

"Sustenance." Javier smirked and took a drink from his paper cup.

 

Illya pulled out a packet of Pop Tarts and another take away cup full of liquid.

 

"I hope you don't mind coffee with cream and sugar. I didn't know what you wanted but anything has to be better than what you have at home."

 

Illya nodded. "I skipped breakfast. What is this Pop Tart thing?"

 

"Not sure," Javier shrugged. "I hear they are good though."

 

Illya tore the pack open and sniffed the contents. "You hear any more from UNCLE yet?"

 

Javier shook his head. "Waverly left this morning. Probably boarding right about now."

 

Illya took a bite of the pastry. It was very sweet, thick and a little tough but it was edible.  Barely.  "A whole month."

 

"I suppose we'll see how well Napoleon does in his shoes now."

 

"I am sure he will do fine," Illya said. He hoped Napoleon would be too busy to snoop around his case now. "I'm going to see about getting closer to Johnny today. I should be able to accidentally bump into him after class."

 

"Stop by the diner for dinner tonight. Let me know how it goes." Javier swallowed the last of his coffee and crushed the empty cup before slipping it into the paper bag. "I should have more from UNCLE by then."

 

Illya nibbled the pie-like thing for a while and drank the mediocre coffee before heading to class.  It was better than nothing, although not much.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon squirmed in Alexander Waverly's chair. It was plush and comfortable but didn't seem right. He wished he was in the field playing back up for Illya. It wasn't right having an unfamiliar agent watching over the assignment. Unfortunately, there wasn't much time to dwell on that fact as the daily routine started.

 

Although Alexander Waverly always looked like he had things running smoothly under his control, Napoleon was finding out that there was a lot more to the job than it looked. Case reviews had to be done. Budget requests analyzed. Activity studies performed. Agent reports came in constantly. High profile cases required decisions.

 

There was a good support staff who knew Waverly's patterns and preferences and Napoleon consulted them for input. He was confident about day to day running of UNCLE. He trusted the people and agents alike. There was only one exception on his mind during this time.

 

It wasn't normal for UNCLE to put their trust in a civilian. They weren't getting paid for the risks like Agents were. Sometimes it was necessary to make use of opportunities though. Nancy was Napoleon's ace in the hole this time. At least with her watching over Illya he would have extra eyes that he could trust. He wasn't as sure about Javier and he wasn't sure he wanted to tell Javier about Illya's recent background. Nor did he want to reveal too much about his personal interest in Illya.

 

He shuffled around some files on his desk and picked up the next one, the fifth of the morning. "Lab supplies," he read aloud to himself. A crooked half smile, half frown crossed his face. He imagined the short document written in Illya's own handwriting. Maybe it was a way to think of Illya being closer.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Illya tried to follow the lecture but found that the little things Professor Stillwell stated about Russia that portrayed the stereotypical American view of the people irked him. He still had trouble keeping his emotions under full control. U.N.C.L.E. personnel called him Ice Prince for a reason. His emotional control was legend among friend and foe alike. Lack of it just wasn't like him. Hadn't been since Sarkov got hold of him. His life seemed so changed from what it used to be. From what it _should_ be.

 

Then he would spot Nancy staring at him from her seat two rows over. Apparently she didn't want to sit next to him.  That was probably Napoleon's doing. He probably had her spying on him. What would that do to the mission? It was a simple enough assignment to get him back in the field. Napoleon seemed to be doing everything in his power to sabotage it. Illya's jaw clenched in anger. Why did the man he'd considered his best friend want to ruin Illya's chances at getting back into the field? He was ready. Well, for the most part. And the part he worried about Napoleon had no inkling of. So why?

 

Maybe this little taste of power was going to Napoleon's head. The American always did have a lot of ambition and he liked being in charge. Still, Illya never considered his friend to be what he would call power hungry. Yet what other reason could there be?  Illya hoped Waverly decided a month was too long to be away and would come back early. If he didn't and Napoleon kept it up, Illya would very likely want to kill his partner long before the month was up.

 

The reminder of Waverly sent his thoughts careening into yet another direction. One day Waverly would either retire or die and Napoleon would take over for real. When that happened, he would inherit everything pertaining to UNCLE from the old man. Including the diary. That damned diary! The idea of sneaking into the old man's house and finding it was really tempting. There wouldn't be a better time to try than now.

 

The lecture concluded with the professor assigning a chapter in a history book about the Czars of Russia. Illya hurried to the front as the rest of the student body began making their way out the door. He handed in his first papers showing he was trying to catch up on the missed introductions to the course since registering late. Luckily, Stillwell didn't keep him to talk.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

"Hey John! Wait up!" a voice shouted.

 

Johnny stopped and turned around to see who called him.

 

"Hi Kurt. What's up man?" he said as the two of them joined up in the corridor.

 

Kurt shook the hair back from his eyes with a flick of his head. He switched his books into his other arm. "I hear you can get some good smoke."

 

Johnny spun and socked his new acquaintance in the shoulder. "Shhh.... Dammit. You wanna get me expelled?"

 

"Sorry man," Kurt said, lowering his voice. They headed outside and down the steps. "I didn't mean nuthin by it."

 

"It's okay," Johnny told him. "Just be more careful. Besides I don't carry it on me."

 

"But you can get some can't you?" he asked.

 

"I don't know. The supply is limited. Who told you anyway?" He had the nasty feeling that this was going to soon spiral out of control.

 

"David. He's in my class."

 

"Well don't ask me on campus again. I'll see what I can do," he promised.

 

"Great!" Kurt slapped Johnny on the back and began to dash off. "I'll catch you later."

 

Illya watched the other student run toward the door and decided he should approach Johnny before the student became entangled with anyone else. He trotted up behind him and called, "John?"

 

"No, no, no," John said, trying to cover his ears. He didn't turn around.

 

"Wait. What?" Illya said, confused.

 

"Don't even ask. Jeez man."

 

Illya didn't understand what was going on and followed him. "We met at the house party last night. You were at Olaf's apartment. I stay there now," he explained with the accent thicker than his normal one.

 

"Mikey, right?" John said, exasperated. "Look. Don't even ask."

 

"Dima," he corrected him. "Don't ask what?"

 

Johnny rolled his eyes. "All day long I've had people asking for .... Dad is gonna get me expelled if he makes me keep this up."

 

"Keep what up?" he asked.

 

"Don't you start."

 

"I don't understand. Maybe I can help," Illya offered.

 

"All day long.... Listen man. I can't talk here." He just wanted to get a degree so he could move away from home and live his own life.

 

"If you want to talk I know a place that would be private enough. There will be no one from school around so we won't be interrupted. You look like you need to get away for a little while," Illya said.

 

Johnny was about to decline but another voice called out to him.  He didn't want to talk to anyone else and made a snap decision. "Let's go now then."

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

In overalls with a company logo, armed with a clipboard with a work order, Javier Ponce walked into the administration building on campus. Using a thick Spanish accent he showed the work order to spray for insects in the records room and requested no one enter without the proper respiratory gear while he worked.  The initial confusion of the staff quickly dissolved when the huge spider he brought along was seen scrambling through the records room. "See. It doesn't take long for them to spread once they get a foothold in any one area."

 

Javier was pleased to get in and was sure he wouldn't be disturbed as he checked out the records of several students. The look on the women's faces actually made him wonder if they would come in there by themselves at all in the near future. He made sure to scoop up and safely stow the tarantula in the tool case he carried. He would return it to the zoology department when he was done.

 

<><><><><><><><><><>

 

It wasn't the look of Little Russia that made it stand out as a community in New York. It was the people and their culture. Illya came to the area once in awhile to taste the genuine food from his homeland. This would have been a good chance to do that, but he didn't want to run into anyone who could expose his real identity when he was under cover. A beer or two might relax Johnny and help him open up. Illya chose a bar close to the EL station.

 

"I come here to hear voices from my homeland," Illya said. "I miss Russia sometimes."

 

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Who would want to go there?"

 

Illya ushered him to a seat in a bench booth in the back. They could talk in private there. The locals wouldn't intrude or overhear their conversation. "It is a beautiful country. My Russian studies professor only knows the awful things printed in books," he said with some disdain. "I do not like how people in this country think of my homeland."

 

"Sorry," Johnny said, feeling like he could be more himself now that he was out of the social environment of school and his father's influence. "I meant no offence."

 

Illya shook his head and signaled the server for a couple beers. "It's okay. Maybe you learn more about the real people and you will know better," he said. "So what happened today? You seem a little up in tights."

 

Johnny snorted a bit at the mangled saying. "Oh, nothing." He nodded his thanks to the guy who brought their beer over. Then he raised his glass and took a swig. "I guess word is getting around about the smoke. Everyone wants to be my friend now."

 

Illya could understand that. "So why not just say no?"

 

"It's complicated. My dad..." he paused and then let out a growl of frustration. "It's my dad's doing."

 

"Tell me. Perhaps I help?" he offered.

 

"You have to promise not to say anything to anyone," Johnny said.

 

Illya nodded. "You have my word."

 

Johnny took another big drink from his glass. "I didn't want to do it but dad said I have to. He gave me the weed and told me to pass it on to a few people. He wants me to make friends with them and talk them into joining my dad's company. Naturally I had to share it with the others there, too. I couldn't just give it to one or two people and not the others."

 

"Why does your dad want to do that?" Illya asked.

 

"Well, I don't believe my eyes. So many years and thousands of miles and who do I see?" The Russian words spoken in a warm voice interrupted them, tickling Illya's memories from many years ago.

 

Illya's blue eyes widened in surprise as he looked up. The face was older. The body now that of a man instead of the youth he knew back in the training he endured under Sarkov. But there was no mistaking Ivan Dobrolubov. The last time he saw Ivan it was with a sniper rifle in his hands.  Now here he was carrying a crate of bottles to the back room.

 

"Uh..?" Illya stuttered, momentarily stunned.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

_Russia, 1944- Firing Range_

_The rifle had felt heavy and awkward in Illya's arms. It was too big for a boy his age and size but he had to use it._

_Ivan had smiled at the sight of the little boy, compared to his larger frame, trying to balance the gun and shoot straight. "Don't fight the gun. Relax and feel the balance."_

_All Illya could think about was the numb bruises on his back and shoulders from where the riding crop stung as it emphasized Sarkov's earlier lecture. The words haunted him. The threats about what he would do to poor shots in his training program. The faces of the boys who started out with Illya and one by one disappeared from the barracks. He was the only one left. He shuddered to consider what happened to them._

_It didn't matter that Illya was one of the best with hand guns. If he couldn't master the rifles as well, he hated to think of what could happen to him. Was it any worse than what had happened already?  He thought maybe it was.  
_

_Ivan grabbed his arm and shook him to get his attention. Pain from the beatings he had suffered made Illya stiffen. It was then Ivan realized just how bad it was for Illya. He let go. Offering sympathy was out of the question because he could see how Illya silently swallowed his humanity and carried on._

_"Look. I can teach you to become the best," Ivan said. "Trust me."_

_Illya eyed him skeptically. "Trust is earned. To give it freely will get me killed."_

_Ivan's eyebrows shot up. Such a paranoid attitude from one so young. He was right, of course, but a boy his age shouldn't figure it out for a few more years yet. Even in the Soviet Union. He put a stern frown on his face. "The Motherland discourages such pessimism in Her children." Such a laughable idea but he would be expected to set his young charge straight or face his own punishment._

_"Yet She encourages pragmatism. A pretty conundrum, is it not?"  Illya eyed him, his stare cold and shuttered, though not completely emotionless. The boy had a good grasp on keeping his feelings out of his expression but he was not yet perfect. Ivan couldn't quite put his finger on exactly what peeked out of their icy blue depths--Fear? Disgust? Derision? A combination of all?--but he knew the boy had more learning to do in that department._

_Even so, it was still enough to make Ivan's skin crawl. Too young. The boy was too young for all this. But . . . . He had his orders and he would carry them out despite his disapproval of how the State was using and abusing this boy._

_Ivan cleared his throat in discomfort. The kid brought out feelings of a big brother in him even as Illya gave Ivan the willies. "Perhaps we should leave the philosophy to the philosophers. We are soldiers. Our role is to be able to shoot a rifle without killing a comrade in the process. I'm here to teach you how to do that."_

_Illya shifted the rifle in his hands and brought it up to aim at the target set up on the range. "I'm ready."_

_Ivan was amazed to find out just how ready he was. By the end of the first lesson the boy shot the rifle better than most of the cadets, including the older ones that were ready to graduate into their first postings with the KGB. "You have shot a gun before."  The boy just shrugged and readied himself for the next shot.  
_

_Eventually Ivan did earn the boy's trust. They even became friends, or as much so as possible under the circumstances. Ivan quickly learned Illya possessed exceptional intelligence, a dry wit, and a devastatingly sarcastic tongue. Talented at anything he set his mind to, Ivan marveled at how quickly the boy picked up new abilities, languages, and skills. It was a couple of years worth of friendship before he found out why Illya was such a quick study._

_"I still find it hard to believe you'd never shot a rifle before the first day I met you," he'd said to his friend one night over glasses of vodka Illya had snuck into the barracks. Ivan was slated to leave for his first posting the following day and Illya insisted they celebrate his success._

_Illya snorted, a wry smile on his face as he poured more vodka into their respective glasses. "Never underestimate the threat of a bullet in the head as a motivator."_

_Ivan paused, his glass halfway to his lips. "What are you talking about?"_

_A dark blond eyebrow rose. "Sarkov's training technique." He grimaced. "At least with me. Did he not instruct you on it?"_

_Ivan set his glass down on the table, the vodka all but forgotten. "I never dealt with Comrade Sarkov. Comrade Andreov commissioned me to train you in rifles. He never gave me any instructions aside from, 'teach him how to shoot.'"_

_"Ah!" Illya downed his drink and poured another. "That explains it, then. I always wondered why you never employed Sarkov's favorite training tool."_

_"What training tool?" Ivan somehow knew he wasn't going to like the answer. Had to ask, though._

_Illya's glass hovered at his lips for a second before he downed the contents and poured yet more vodka into it. His emotional control had improved dramatically over the time Ivan knew him. His face no longer revealed what he was thinking or feeling. The signs were there, though, for those who knew how to look for them. Ivan was one of only two who knew. Andreov was the other._

_For all his nonchalance Ivan could tell Illya didn't care for the direction of the conversation. Normally his taciturn friend would shut down the subject at this point. Ivan was rather surprised when he didn't._

_Illya shrugged again, a sure sign he was not feeling as laid back and relaxed as he appeared. "Sarkov trained me in handguns. He would hold a gun to my head and tell me he would put a bullet in my brain if I missed a shot."_

_Appalled as he was at the notion, Ivan tried to lighten the mood a little. "Obviously he wasn't serious. I'm sure you missed at least once."_

_Illya's laugh held no humor but a world of bitterness. "He lied, of course. He would shoot me in the leg or the arm when I missed. Flesh wounds. Nothing that would cause any real damaged." He tossed yet another shot of vodka down his throat. "If he'd killed me, it would have wasted all the money the State spent on training me to that point. Cheaper to have a doctor on standby who would dig the bullet out and bandage me up. The training would resume as though nothing happened. As far as I was concerned, a bullet in the leg was as undesirable as a bullet in the head."_

_"And now, you never miss," Ivan mused, understanding now why Illya excelled at everything he did._

_"I never miss," Illya had agreed, finishing off the bottle of vodka._


	21. Chapter 21

New York, 1970

 

Ivan never saw Illya again. Until now. He'd looked for the younger man many years ago, once he'd managed a posting in Moscow, but Illya had all but disappeared. No one would speak of him. Everyone acted as though the studious young man never existed.

 

Ivan had heard whispers in the KGB hallways about Illya's stint as a prostitute. He had wondered why everyone reacted so strongly to the news. Although homosexuality was considered an offense worthy of the absolute worst punishments in the Soviet Union, it was not unusual for a KGB agent to take on the role of a homosexual in order to further the State's goals and agendas. Why should this be different? Everything he'd heard suggested Illya acted in the role as part of a KGB operation. He couldn't understand the problem.

 

Unless, of course, someone discovered Illya really was homosexual. Ivan would not be surprised if Illya did have such proclivities. Not that the young blond man had ever been acted inappropriately to Ivan or within his sight. His apparent total lack of interest in women could suggest such a thing.  Of course, he had an equal lack of interest in men, so what was it about the man that made Ivan, or anyone, for that matter, think that perhaps the rumors had been right?

 

He gave himself a mental shrug. It didn't matter. Since his friend had never approached him with a sexual proposition--and Ivan believed he never would--such an idea didn't bother him. Personally, he didn't care what someone did in their bedroom as long as they didn't force him, Ivan, to participate against his will.

 

How ironic to meet his young friend again in America of all places. He knew he should be wary of suddenly seeing Illya here but he was so happy to see his friend still alive he couldn't control his outburst. Besides, Sarkov had told him in no uncertain terms that Illya Kuryakin was no longer with the KGB. Sarkov refused to give him more information, but Ivan felt compelled to believe him. The former Colonel, who had found himself demoted to a far lesser rank because of the fiasco in Italy much to Ivan's glee, had seemed genuinely angry and disgusted. Ivan had no reason to believe the man lied about Illya's change in status. Illya was no longer KGB so there was nothing to worry about. Well, not much.

 

Illya had jumped out of his seat when he saw Ivan, a huge smile on his face. "Ivan!   How nice you recognize your old friend, Dima!" he gushed in English.

 

Ivan was shocked when the blond threw his arms around him and gave him sloppy kisses on both cheeks in a most un-Illya Kuryakin way.

 

"You're going to get me killed!" he added in Russian, his tone suggesting he was giving Ivan a happy greeting even as his fleeting expression told him it was a dire warning. Now THAT was more like the Illya he knew.

 

Dima? That could only mean Illya was undercover, which meant his friend was still KGB.  "Dima!" he said, following Illya's lead, covering his surprise smoothly. So Sarkov lied about that? His faith in his own abilities to read people and catch lies took a huge beating."It is good to see you!" He made a show of looking around. "But I am rather busy now. Perhaps we could talk later?"

 

Illya's eyes said an emphatic, "NO!" but his mouth said, "We can have lunch one day and catch up."

 

Ivan took the hint. "Perhaps. I am very busy, though. It was good seeing you again."

 

Illya's relief was palpable, at least to Ivan. From the bored expression on Illya's companion's face, he didn't see a thing wrong with it.

 

Ivan nodded at them and went back to running his restaurant/bar. As he walked away he couldn't shake the feeling things were not as they seemed. For his own protection, and most assuredly for his curiosity, he vowed to get to the bottom of the mystery of Illya Kuryakin.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Javier wondered why Solo wanted him to report on his findings in person. When he'd tried to call it in, Lisa, Waverly's secretary, Solo's for the moment, told Javier the acting Number 1 of Section 1 commanded a personal audience.

 

This just couldn't be good. If Solo didn't have such a reputation as a ladies' man, Javier would be concerned the man was jealous of the fact Javier had taken Illya to bed. Although some men acted like they liked women just so people wouldn't realize they were homosexual.  Maybe Solo--?

 

Javier shook his head at the absurd idea. That just couldn't be the case. As he understood it, those men usually couldn't perform with the women they dated. From everything he heard, Solo performed just fine. He thought about THAT for a second before shaking the alluring image from his mind. Illya was more Javier's type, but he could fantasize about any good looking man, thank you very much.  Even a jerk.

 

He entered headquarters through Del Floria, picked up his visiting agent's badge, and trudged to Solo's office. He really wasn't looking forward to this.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon looked forward to his upcoming meeting with Ponce. He wanted to watch the man squirm like the Puerto Rican worm he was. Napoleon couldn't stand the guy. More, he couldn't understand what Illya saw in the man that he didn't see in his partner. How had Javier lured Illya to his bed at a time the Russian managed to be completely immune to Napoleon's charms and absolutely refused to make love with him again?

 

Napoleon felt frustrated. Upset. Enraged. He didn't want to take out his feelings on Illya for fear of pushing his partner away even more, but he could certainly take it out on his present lover.  A predatory grin crossed Napoleon's face as he thought about how he would go about this. The intercom buzzed at that moment. He toggled it on. "Yes, Lisa?"

 

"Mr. Ponce is here to see you as you asked," she said airily. Her voice, professional edged with seduction, made him smile. Maybe he should ask her out on a date soon. Illya would hate that. He didn't care for Lisa.

 

"Send him in, Lisa," Napoleon said and toggled off. He wiped the expectant grin off his face and had a neutral expression plastered on by the time Ponce entered the office and sat down. In Illya's chair, Napoleon noted sourly.

 

"You asked to see me, Mr. Solo?" Javier asked, his expression and tone showing only respect.

 

Napoleon knew it for the lie it was. Ponce was a very good agent, after all. "I wanted to get your report on your findings from the campus admin building."

 

The question of, "Why?" burned brightly in Ponce's eyes but he didn't articulate it. "Yes, sir," he said instead. "I looked into the university's funding and donations list. As expected, there were a number of the usual wealthy philanthropists. Most of them are legitimate. Phillip Austin, Johnny Austin's father, was on the list. However, it showed him making the donation not on his behalf, but on that of Swiftwings Laboratories. They do drug research and development. I did some checking and found we've suspected the company to be a front for THRUSH, even though we haven't found absolute proof. I'd say we do now."

 

Napoleon nodded, impressed with Ponce's thoroughness and professionalism despite himself. He pictured the Puerto Rican naked and sweating over an equally naked Illya and his positive feelings towards the man disappeared. "What about Mr. Kuryakin?" he asked in a hard tone.

 

Ponce blinked in obvious confusion. "Erm, he wasn't there."

 

Napoleon sneered at him. "Yes, I know that. You are supposed to be his backup, however. You should be aware of where he is at all times. What was he doing while you were doing all this research?"

 

Ponce's eyes narrowed but his voice remained even. "He was taking Johnny out to lunch in order to see what he might find out from him. Illya . . . Mr. Kuryakin," he corrected with a quick glance at Napoleon's face. "Mr. Kuryakin believes Johnny is recruiting a new generation of THRUSH scientists."

 

Anger surged through Napoleon's veins. "And you just let him go by himself?"

 

Ponce's mouth quirked in disgust. "He's a trained agent. One of the best. You should know that better than anyone," he spat. "I'm sure he can handle one teenaged boy. If he needs help, all he has to do is call me and I'm there. You're going to have to trust me on this, _sir_." His emphasis on the 'sir' suggested he didn't think Napoleon deserved the honorific. "Of course, that will be difficult to do quickly if I'm here instead of where I'm supposed to be."

 

Napoleon grit his teeth, his anger starting to get the best of him. "I should write you up for insubordination," he bit out.

 

"Then do it and let me get out of here," Ponce demanded. "I have to get back to the university in case Illya _does_ need me."

 

Napoleon considered firing the man on the spot and taking over as Illya's backup. He had full authority while Waverly was away. He'd have to justify his actions to the Old Man but was sure he could do so easily. Unfortunately, he couldn't work the big desk and be a good backup for Illya at the same time. Much as he hated to admit it, Ponce was right. Napoleon should have just taken his report over the communicator instead of pulling him away from where he could respond quickly to a distress call from Illya rather than here. He scowled. "Get the hell out of here," he snarled.

 

Ponce jumped to his feet and stalked for the door.

 

"Ponce," Napoleon snapped before the man could escape the office.

 

The Puerto Rican turned to him and waited.

 

"If it comes down to a choice between his life or yours, I expect you to throw yours down for him."

 

Ponce's eyebrows rose. "Of course. Illya deserves nothing less from me. I tend to be very protective of my very special friends." He spun on his heel and left before Napoleon could say anything else.

 

Napoleon sat at Waverly's desk--as restrictive a prison as any THRUSH cell--and seethed over the last words Ponce threw at him. The man must have figured out just what kind of interest Napoleon had in Illya. He would have to watch himself better around the Puerto Rican agent. At least while he was watching Illya's back. Once this mission was over, Napoleon would see to it that Javier Ponce never had the chance to fuck Illya again.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Ivan eyed Kuryakin and his companion from behind the bar. The whispered,  "You are going to get me killed," continued to echo in his mind. Perhaps this other man with Illya was some kind of danger to him. A force to be reckoned with. He didn't like what he didn't understand and this bothered him. He'd always seen Illya as a little brother. He had vowed long ago to protect him like a big brother should.

 

A quick nod of his head summoned a man from the task of taking out kitchen waste. The sandy haired fellow hurried over to Ivan.

 

"Yes?" he asked and then hushed his tone when Ivan indicated silence.

 

"Yegor. I want you to do something for me." Ivan turned to face the bar-back and leaned on the bar as if chatting. "Do you see that blond man sitting with the dark haired one in the booth?"  


Yegor glanced with his eyes but didn't turn his head. He nodded and reached for the small caliber pistol in his vest.

 

A raised hand from Ivan indicated he need not do that. "I want to know where he goes when he leaves here. Just follow him. Don't try to stop him or talk to him."

 

"And when he gets there?" the minion asked.

 

Ivan frowned. "Don't do anything. Just come back and report to me."

 

Yegor nodded, turned, and went into the back room. He slipped on a jacket and tucked his cigarettes into the pocket. Then he went outside and got into a car to wait for the blond man to leave.


	22. Chapter 22

Ivan's actions didn't go unnoticed by Illya.  Inside he was tense but nothing could be done about the situation while he was undercover and with Johnny.  "You were saying?" he asked Johnny as the two of them sipped their beers.  
  
The young man felt that Dima was an okay guy and gave him a small smile.  "Thanks.  For trying to be a friend," he said.  "And not just for the weed."  
  
Illya waved off the thought.  "I'm not really into that.  I just did it to be sociable."  
  
"You're an all right guy.  We're in Dr. Dennis' class together, aren't we?" he said.  "Maybe we could study together for the next lab?"  
  
"Maybe.  I will check class schedule," Illya said, realizing he'd not thickened his accent much in this entire conversation.  He downed the last of his beer.  "We better go.  It's a long way back to the campus housing."    
  
Johnny drank up and nodded.  "Yah.  I gotta get back for dinner, too.  Dad will wonder where I am."  
  
Illya left a dollar fifty on the table for the two rounds and a tip.  Then the two of them walked out to catch the bus back across town.    
  
It didn't surprise him when the engine of a car started nearby, but the driver didn't pull out into traffic right away.  He watched the car out of the corner of his eye as they boarded the bus.  It was definitely a tail.  He recognized the man from the bar.  One of Ivan's.  He couldn't do anything about it right now, but he had to wonder what interest Ivan had in the U.N.C.L.E.'s business.  
  
<><><><><><><><>  
  
Napoleon left the offices of UNCLE at seven.  He didn't drive straight home.  Instead he drove to the Gramercy Park Hotel.  Tonight he planned to dine there with Nancy and find out what else he could about how Illya was doing.  
  
Napoleon had a hundred questions running through his mind as he drove.  The day to day supervision of UNCLE should have been routine for him with the month long coaching before Waverly left, but having Illya in the field without him after the traumatic events in the last year was too much of a distraction.  Everyone found him irritable, moody, and, at times, totally impossible.  
  
Nancy was a beauty to behold as Napoleon entered the lobby to find her.  She'd done her hair up, the first time he'd seen it that way.  The few wispy curls that danced at the edge of her forehead softened the style and made the charming smile warmer and more inviting.  A light wrap barely covered her shoulders.  She let it slide to her elbows as she saw him approach.  She wore a spaghetti strap dark blue cocktail dress and accented the outfit with a small silver clutch and silver glitter trimmed shoes.  
  
Pausing in his stride to admire his dinner guest, Napoleon smiled with sparkling eyes.  "I am truly a lucky man tonight to have such a gracious beauty in my company."  
  
She blushed at the smooth charm.  "I do have more than nurses uniforms in my closet."  
  
He offered his arm to escort her to the restaurant.  "You're perfect the way you are.  I've made reservations on the Garden Terrace for dinner."  
  
She slipped her arm through his.  "You better be careful.  I could start getting used to this kind of life."  
  
As they strolled toward the eatery, Napoleon lowered his voice.  "How did your class go today?"  
  
"Well..." she said, hesitating a little.  "I did notice a few things."  
  
"Such as?" he replied.  
  
She wondered if it was Illya's natural behavior or if she was really seeing signs of stress.  "He's responding to the Professor's lectures with varying degrees of irritation and almost outright disdain.  I've been watching him very closely and that's the way it looks to me.  Sometimes I even catch him staring at me out of the corner of his eye.  It's like he thinks I'm spying on him."  
  
"Well, you are," Napoleon said.  "I'm sure he would think so even if you weren't since he knows that you and I know each other.  But is he fit to be in the field?  I want to find out if he needs more desk time to adjust."  At least he was hoping to find cause to do that.  
  
She shook her head.  "It's too soon to say something like that," she said.  "I'd have to observe him longer to be sure.  And I'm not a doctor anyway.  It would be unethical for me to diagnose someone."  
  
"I'm not asking you to do something against your sworn oaths.  Just keep an eye on a friend for me.  That's all," he assured her.  He didn't want to lose an inside eye on Illya.  "Let's just have a nice meal," he said as they arrived at the Garden Terrace, subtly lit with tiny lights trimming the plants and ceiling.  "You can go over the details while we eat."  
  
They were seated and Napoleon began by ordering a bottle of a good red wine, his standard order for mixing pleasure with business.  If his luck held, which it generally did, they would cap off the night with an intimate encounter.  
.    
<><><><><><><><><>  
  
  
Even with the knowledge they were being followed, Illya took the opportunity to chat with Johnny more.  With someone showing genuine interest in him, the lad opened up and Illya learned so much about his background, interests, and hopes for the future.  Johnny didn't know much about his father's business and didn't really want to. In contrast to the courses he was taking, the extra-curricular activities seemed to be where Johnny came alive.  It was a shame that his father wouldn't let him major in Drama.  The boy was actually very likable.  If he kept responding to Illya like he was tonight, the friendship might help Illya get to the bottom of things quicker than he'd imagined.    
  
Night had fallen by the time Illya and Johnny reached the campus.  Illya pretended he'd made a mistake with the buses when they took two wrong routes on the way back.  He wanted to be sure the car he thought was following him was really following him.  He had no doubts now.  
  
Illya was on alert when they got off the bus and he walked Johnny to campus where they would go their separate ways.    
  
"Listen, Dima.  I want to says thanks.  You're the first person I could talk to about a lot of this stuff.  I really needed to get it off my chest.  I hope I didn't bore you," Johnny said apologetically.    
  
"No.  I was not bored," Illya replied.  "I'm just glad you aren't upset with my sense of direction," he joked about the supposed errors on their journey back.  
  
"Actually I'm kinda glad we did," Johnny told him.  "You're a good guy.  Don't let those party animals in your apartment ruin that."  
  
"What animals?" he asked, wondering if the place was inhabited with vermin too.  
  
Johnny seemed to be oblivious to the question.  He grabbed Illya's arm to keep him from leaving.  "Listen, man.  Do me a favor?" he asked.  Then he let go and reached into his book bag.  He pulled out a plastic bag and kept it covered with his hand as he passed it to Dima.  "Give this to the guys?  I don't want to stop there tonight.  It's late and I have studying to do."  
  
Illya took the weed and nodded.  "Sure.  Be careful."  He waved in the air.  "Someone always watch, at least in my country."  He gave a very Russian shrug.  "Maybe here, too."  
  
<><><><><><><><><>  
  
Yegor saw the two men exchange a package but it was too far away to determine what.  He watched them part ways and one headed across campus on foot.  The blond that he followed headed past the diner, closed now, toward a block of apartments.  He went in one at the middle of the block.  It seemed to be the end of the line after 30 minutes of waiting.    
  
<><><><><><><><><>  
  
Illya wasn't in his apartment.  The tail would have no way of knowing that.  Instead he was in another apartment, lights out, spying on the spy.  
  
Javier brought over a vodka and handed it to Illya who looked through the break in the curtains with a pair of binoculars.  "Is the car still there?" he asked.  
  
Illya nodded.  "Hasn't moved.  No one's gotten out either."  
  
"THRUSH?" Javier asked.  
  
"No.  Probably not," Illya replied.  "More likely KGB."  
  
"KGB?" Javier repeated surprised.  "How would they fit in with this?"  
  
Illya put down the binoculars and shook his head.  "They don't.  This is my problem."  He downed the drink.  "So what did you find out today?"  
  
"That your old partner is a _pendejo_ ," Javier said dryly.  
  
Illya smirked.  Napoleon was being an ass lately.  "What happened?"  
  
Javier took a seat next to the window and peeked out.  "I went in to report.  I don't know why he wouldn't take a field report but I followed orders and went in.  He was in some foul kind of mood."  
  
"He's been in a foul mood ever since I was put back in the field," Illya corroborated.  
  
"Well I told him that the backers for John Phillips' education aren't his parents.  It's being paid for by a company.  Swiftwing Labs.  It's a scholarship but get this.  He never had the grades to qualify for one.  And Swiftwing Laboratories is on the list of suspected THRUSH affiliates.  They are also paying for scholarships for two other students in colleges in Maine and Delaware."  
  
Illya nodded and looked off into space.  "I was with Johnny today.  He was being hounded by other students for more of the marijuana he's been supplying.  I got him off campus for a while and we had a good long talk.  He's actually a nice kid.  We may be looking at the wrong end of the stick for a villain here."  
  
"How so?" Javier asked.  
  
Illya dug into his pants pocket for the drugs.  "Take a sample of this into the lab for analysis.  Lets see what's so special about it."  
  
Javier got a piece of plastic wrap and placed some of the weed in the center.  Then he wrapped it up and gave the rest back to Illya.  He held onto the bag though.  "What are you going to do with the rest of it?"  
  
"Johnny asked me to give it to Olaf.  THRUSH isn't out to kill a bunch of students so it should be safe enough to pass it on.  You and I smoked it the other day, too.  We're fine."  
  
"Are we?"  Javier frowned.  "I hate to give something poisonous to a bunch of kids."    
  
Illya grimaced.  "Same here, but I doubt I can convince them not to partake once they have it.  If I don't give it to them, I'll have tipped my hand to Johnny and whoever else might be on THRUSH's side.  We might lose them and this entire operation will have been for nothing."  He didn't add that he thought he would lose much more than a few THRUSH agents if he failed his first assignment back.  
  
Javier pulled the bag back and opened it again.  "Should we make sure?  I don't really like the idea of smoking while on duty, but I like the idea we might be giving something dangerous to those kids even less."    
  
Illya was torn and it made him angry.  His ability to make decisions seemed somewhat compromised since his episode with Kopf.  If anyone figured it out, however, he would be out of a job and probably on the next Aeroflot back to Russia.  He certainly didn't want that.  What he did want was some more of that pot.  Unusual, yes, but it would relax and calm him, something he could use at the moment.  It wasn't that much different from having a drink.  "You're right.  Better we die than them if it comes to that."  He made himself sound confident in his decision when he felt anything but.  Couldn't afford for Javier, or anyone else, for that matter, to figure it out.    
  
While Javier rolled the joint, since Illya had no idea how to do it, Illya peered out the curtain again.  The car was gone.  He had the idea that soon Ivan would know where he was.  He was on an assignment, though, and that had to come first.  He turned back to Javier.  He'd deal with Ivan later.  
  
As he shoved the bag of pot into his pocket once more Javier lit the joint and sucked in a lungful of the smoke.   
  
Illya took a deep breath before putting the rolled marijuana cigarette to his lips and inhaling.  "So why is Napoleon a _pendejo_?" he asked, voice strained from holding the smoke in his lungs.  He passed back the joint.  
  
"He's jealous.  The guy sleeps around and yet he's jealous of you getting a bit of tail," Javier grumbled and then took another hit.  "He's probably off getting some right now I'll bet."  
  
Illya felt a knot in his stomach.  "Probably.  I don't understand him sometimes.  Well... most of the time," he replied.    
  
"Tell me. . . does it bother you when he does that?" Javier asked as Illya took another hit.  
  
"I don't begrudge him sleeping with someone. At least, not anymore.  He gets upset when I do the same thing and that angers me."  Illya shook his head.  Why was he telling Javier this?  Yes, he'd thought about it many times, but he wasn't the type to share such things.  He seemed to have a strong compulsion to do so now, though.  
  
The statement made Javier mad.  "Then do what you want and let him feel whatever he wants over it.  In fact," Javier said.  "You and I should have sex again just to piss him off!"  
  
Illya thought the idea sounded like just the thing to do.  "You're right!  I should!"  Something at the back of his mind niggled at him, telling him this was wrong.  Yet it seemed so very reasonable.     
  
Javier needed little encouragement without the drug in his system.  With it, the suggestion seemed more like an order and one he eagerly wanted to follow.  He leaned in for a kiss and soon the two of them were satisfying their cravings in every way.


	23. Chapter 23

The sounds of morning invaded the apartment. The twitter of birds, closing of doors as other residents started their day of classes or work, shouts of "Hurry up!" from next door. Illya's eyes snapped open and he found himself staring into Javier's dark ones. His bed mate looked as startled as he felt. They both bolted out of the bed as though a snake lay in it with them.

 

Javier's, "We shouldn't have done that!" bled into Illya's, "This was a mistake!" They stopped and stared at each other.

 

Javier shook his head. "I like you, Illya, and you're great in bed, but I never, and I do mean never, sleep with the same person more than once in a single visit."

 

"Do you think I do?" Illya snapped. He glanced at the bag of weed sitting on top of the bedside stand. "And I am not prone to doing drugs. At least not voluntarily." He paused. "Although, even as I say that, I'm craving another joint.

 

Javier stared at him. "Same here."

 

Two sets of eyebrows rose. "I'd better get this pot to the lab," said Javier as, at the exact same moment, Illya declared, "Get that marijuana in for testing immediately."

 

Javier ran both hands through his sex and sleep disheveled hair, messing it up even more. "Okay. This is just getting weird."

 

Illya tilted his head, a disconcerted expression on his usually unexpressive face. "Understatement."

 

Illya started gathering his discarded clothing. He found his pants pooled beside the bed, but his shirt lay in a ball on a nearby chair. His underwear lay draped across two hangers in the closet. Illya grimaced as he remembered Javier ripping them off his body and then sling-shotting them over his shoulder.

 

He avoided looking at Javier while he quickly dressed. He went to pick up the baggie of weed and stopped. The moment it was in his hand and so accessible, desire to forget the rest of his day and stay here smoking and fucking spiked through him.

 

Although there were people who were affected by marijuana this way, for the most part his reaction just wasn't natural. Especially for him. He hated drugs of all kinds. Too many times on the unwilling receiving end of them did that to a person. Not only that, Illya knew he did not have an addictive personality. Agents tended not to. A trait spy organizations screened out of their pool of potential agents. He slid the baggie into his pocket before he could give in to its lure. "It's the marijuana." He finally caught Javier's gaze again. "Let me know what's in there the minute you find out."

 

Javier sighed in relief and nodded. "It's the only explanation for our uncharacteristic behavior. If it was only one of us acting oddly, I might think otherwise. But since we're both not acting ourselves--" He shrugged.

 

"Agreed. I have to go. I'll see you later." Illya hurried out of the bedroom before Javier could answer. Outside the apartment, he checked his watch and grit his teeth. He had no time to take a shower. He didn't even have time to change his clothes. He'd have to just grab his books and go in order to make it to class on time. Probably for the best, anyway. Smelling and looking this way would more firmly establish him as the modern student he portrayed. At least, from what he could tell having observed that particular animal firsthand recently. With that thought in mind, he hurried to get his books and rush to class.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Nancy was already in her seat in Soviet history when Illya--call him Dima!--rushed in just as Professor Stillwell started his lecture.

 

Stillwell regarded his late student with disapproval. "So nice of you to join us, _Gaspodin_ Grishuk."

 

Illya gave him a cheeky smile. "My pleasure, sir."

 

Heeding Napoleon's advice upon parting the other night, well, more like very early this morning, Nancy made a note of not only Illya's lateness, but also his flippant response to the teacher.

 

Her nose wrinkled as he passed by her to his usual seat. He'd obviously been a busy boy last night if the scent of sex coming off him was any indication. She couldn't say much about that since she, too, had sex last night. There was an underlying scent that disturbed her for some reason even if she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She took a deep breath to see if she could figure it out. It smelled of smoke, but not like any cigarette or pipe she'd ever smelled. Still, it seemed familiar.

 

Suddenly it dawned on her. At work she'd attended a mandatory workshop on how to spot drug use. One of the things they'd done was burn a little marijuana so the workers could recognize the smell. He'd been smoking marijuana! She scribbled madly until she noticed Illya glance at her and frown. She looked up at the professor as she pretended to be taking notes on what Stillwell was saying.

 

Today's subject turned out to be a very interesting one. Nancy had heard of Baba Yar but didn't know much about it.

 

"The Germans rounded up all the Jews in Kiev. They had them strip everything off then took them in small groups to a nearby ravine called Baba Yar. There, the Germans lined up the Ukrainians in front of the ravine and opened fire. The bodies fell into the ravine, making clean up easy for the SS. The guards would then shoot into the corpses in order to kill anyone that might not be dead."

 

Nancy gasped and put her hand to her mouth. How awful! She looked around for other people's reactions. Most reflected her own shock and dismay. Illya looked uncomfortable, but otherwise unaffected. She made note of the fact.

 

"Even so," Stillwell went on. "Not everyone that stood on that precipice of Baba Yar died. I have read one account of a seven-year-old boy that lived through this harrowing experience. He and his younger brother were scooped up in the German's net, even though they weren't Jewish. In Kiev, neighborhoods weren't really broken down into the various groups like we find in so many other places. The neighborhood that many Jews lived in also housed a large number of non-Jewish families. These boys were in that category.

 

"The Germans really didn't care, however. No amount of protesting stopped them from pushing anyone they rounded up into line to await their turn at execution. It's interesting that these two boys also had a sister, a twin to the younger brother, but they had lost track of her during all this."

 

As fascinated as Nancy was by the story, she couldn't help but notice Illya suddenly stiffening in his seat. She glanced over and noticed his hands gripping the sides of the small desk attached to his seat, knuckles white. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. A part of her wondered if she should be concerned but a more vocal part was pleased to see that he showed some proper human emotion. In the time she'd known him, he either displayed inappropriate responses, such as his panic and paranoia when in the care of the mental facility she worked for, or no response at all. This was a horrible story. It was nice to see him reacting to it appropriately. She missed a couple of lines from Stillwell as she quickly wrote down her observations of Illya.

 

"Hand in hand, the boys stood at the edge of the ravine of what is now known as Baba Yar," Stillwell said when she returned her attention to him. "You can only imagine how terrified these children must have been," he continued to murmurs of agreement from his audience. "And yet, the older boy had the presence of mind to tell his brother to fall backwards into the ravine the second he heard the gunshots."

 

"Please say they both lived," Illya whispered.

 

Nancy wouldn't have heard him if she hadn't sat next to him. She shot him a look but his focus centered entirely on Stillwell. She focused on Illya, his reactions to what the teacher said seeming not only overreactive, but a bit out of character.

 

"At the sound of the shots, both boys fell into the ravine. The older boy survived," Stillwell continued. "But when he looked over he saw his brother was dead.  Still, the boy had the presence of mind to pull his brother's body on top of him.  When the Germans shot into the ravine, the bullets hit the corpse and missing him."

 

Nancy gasped in horror and knew others were similarly affected when she heard the murmurs of distress and pity that filled the room. She looked over to Illya, alarmed to note his face was white as a sheet and he appeared on the verge of passing out.

 

Suddenly he snatched his books and stood up and gracelessly shoved through the aisle as he fled from the room, slamming the door behind him. The room went silent at the unexpected turn of events. Stillwell stood gaping at the closed door as if waiting to see his student return with an apology on his lips. After a minute it appeared Illya would not be coming back.

 

He turned to the class and cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it is a rather distressing story. If he'd stayed a moment longer, he would have learned the boy managed to climb out of the ravine and run away."

 

Some of the other students snickered and Nancy heard mutterings of "weakling" and "coward". She knew Illya was neither. Even as she noted the incident down in her notebook she knew she didn't have the whole story.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Illya sped from the classroom, mind and emotions in a turmoil. How did Stillwell know that story? He'd told no one of it. Ever. Not even Anna and Sergei, his foster parents for two years. Not Uncle Alexei, his mentor for his entire KGB career. No one. Except--

 

He had written it in his diary. That damned diary! Once again he regretted not destroying the damned thing long ago. But how did a teacher in a New York university see it? Where was it before Waverly got hold of it?

 

First things first. He would find out what Stillwell knew, kill him if he had to in order to protect his secrets, but that was not top priority at the moment. Stillwell hadn't been looking at him specifically as he told the story. _Illya's_ story. Hadn't seemed to be trying to get to him or send him a message. Illya didn't think the man knew it was about him at all. To Stillwell, the subject of the story was an unknown. Retrieving the diary took top priority. He had to get it back and he had to do it now. Before Waverly returned. He would figure out what to about Stillwell later.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Javier had the suspect marijuana in his coat pocket when he entered the U.N.C.L.E. via the tailor shop entrance. His first priority was to get it to the lab and have them start analysis. Although he physically enjoyed the night of sex with Illya, the disturbing reasons why he'd done it nagged at him. Almost to the point of distraction.

 

The corridors in the facility were quiet compared to the activity when a major investigation occupied the majority of people. Good. Maybe they could get to the analysis of this weed sooner rather than later.

 

As he walked along he also felt a strange twinge of guilt. Although he liked Illya and the sex was enjoyable, it was totally out of character for both of them to indulge themselves like that when on an assignment. He decided to get a blood test to see if there were lingering affects, and, too, he thought he should suggest to Napoleon that they have Illya tested for similar abnormalities if they found something.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Nancy looked pale and anxious when she was led in to see Napoleon Solo in the Chief of Operations office at the U.N.C.L.E. Napoleon seemed small sitting behind the huge round conference table but gave her a charming smile that warmed her to the core. He stood up and came around to take her arm and guide her to a chair.

 

"Please. Have a seat," he said and turned the swivel chair for her to take her place. "Forgive me for saying, but you don't look well. Are you alright? Can I get you a drink of water or something? Coffee? Tea perhaps?"

 

Quickly she shook her head. "No. I'm okay. Really I am." The words came out like she was out of breath, like she'd run all the way there.

 

"Is it Illya?" he asked, concerned as he sat down next to her and automatically held her hand. "Is Illya all right?"

 

She shook her head. "No. Yes. I'm not quite sure," she said a little confused by her observations. "Today in class he was..." she searched for the right words.

 

"Take your time," he said calmly. Napoleon knew that to get information out of a woman one got more much faster by being charming than putting more pressure on them. Inside, though, his guts felt like they were jumping on knives. "Start with the beginning," he told her.

 

She cupped both hands in his and took a few deep breaths. "He's always very paranoid when he sees me there and as soon as class is over he generally disappears like he was never there in the first place. He avoids me like I'm Typhoid Mary."

 

So far things sounded normal for Illya. "But--?" he asked. "Please go on. Did something happen out of the ordinary today?"

 

Her face scrunched as she thought about how to describe what took place in the class room. "The professor began going through some Russian history today and for some reason Illya was--"

 

"Was-- What?" he encouraged her to go on.

 

Nancy let her shoulders drop. "It's hard to explain. If we were in the hospital I'd have to say he was going through an almost disassociate state. It was like he suddenly turned into another person. I saw signs of anxiety, fear, paranoia, persecution, and there was nothing unusual happening in the classroom. In fact he got up and rushed out before it was even over. He was pale and sweating. Looked disoriented. And now that I think of it--"  She paused. 

 

"What is it?" he asked still rubbing the back of her hand lightly.

 

"Well when he got to class," she said. "He didn't look right."

 

Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean, didn't look right?"

 

She sat up straighter. "I just realized he seemed a bit strange then too. He was disheveled like he'd slept in his clothes. His hair was kind of all over the place. To be honest with you, Napoleon," she said hesitantly. "He's really beginning to frighten me."

 

He tried to look as calm and reassuring as possible. He kept holding her hands and leaned closer, trying not to be intimidating. "I understand but try not to worry. I will see to it that nothing happens to you or Illya. I want you to know that I, that UNCLE, appreciates everything you've done. What I need you to do now is go with Miss Rogers and make a statement for the records. Can you do that for us?" he asked.

 

"Oh but I can't make diagnoses. I'm not a qualified," she protested.

 

"Don't worry about that," he said. "I'm not asking you to make a diagnosis or even give any medical opinions. I just want a statement of your observations. Please?" he said, giving her the dark puppy eyes.

 

She felt relieved after getting it all out. Nancy nodded. "All right. I can do that if it will help."

 

Napoleon got out of the chair and went to the intercom in front of Waverly's seat. He paged Lisa Rogers. "Miss Rogers. Would you please come in here and bring your steno pad?"


	24. Chapter 24

Javier met with Dr. Frank Webber in the lab. He handed him the plastic bag containing the plant material. "I need this analyzed. Can you do it right away?" he asked.

  
Frank took the bag and maneuvered the material inside by kneading the bag with his fingers. "Right away as in yesterday or as in tomorrow?"

 

"ASAP," he replied. "I think it might be tainted and a bunch of the students at the college have been partaking."

 

Frank looked up into Javier's face. He knew how often agents in the field were forced into taking drugs or unknowingly ingested them.

 

"I know," Javier said, practically reading the man's thoughts. "I'm going to go to medical and have blood drawn. So you see my point."

 

Frank shook the bag and nodded. "ASAP," he replied. "I'll get on it right away."

 

The lab scientist turned and took the bag to a work bench to set up the samples. Javier didn't watch long before he turned and headed back out the way he came.

 

<><><><><><><><><><>

 

Dr. Bernardo Cruz gave instructions to Nurse Paula Leon regarding the follow up to be done on Agent Smith. The man broke his ankle in a foot pursuit of a 4-year-old. It was a nephew who escaped the yard chasing a ball while Smith visited with his sister. The man limped in thinking it was just a bad sprain. He obviously didn't expect to be leaving with a foot held solidly in a coating of plaster.

 

"Hi," Javier said upon seeing the doctor enter the reception area.

 

Cruz looked up and raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar face.

 

Javier extended a hand. "Agent Ponce. Puerto Rico." he said, introducing himself.

 

The doctor smiled and shook the hand. "Dr. Bernardo Cruz. How may I help you today, Agent Ponce?"

 

Javier gave him a sheepish grin. "Well I may or may not have been exposed to a substance."

 

"What kind of substance?" Cruz asked. "Give me some details. Why don't you come into my office and we can talk in private?"

 

A relieved nod from Javier told Cruz to lead the way. He followed him down the hall to an office that was probably more lavish than most but also held a collection of the latest medical journals and texts. Javier sensed Cruz was a well read man who liked to keep up on the latest discoveries in the field of medicine, a must for an UNCLE physician. "Nice office," Javier said.

 

Cruz let out a small amused snort. "Take a seat," he offered and then walked around his desk to take his own place. "Now you were saying, Mr. Ponce?"

 

"Agent Kuryakin and I are on an assignment at the college. Possible THRUSH recruiting going on there. In order to investigate, Illya... er Mr. Kuryakin," he explained, "is living in a shared apartment with a few others. I'm afraid marijuana is part of that lifestyle and nothing he and I haven't sampled before but..."

 

"Yes?" Cruz said confident that minimal exposure to marijuana would not be harmful. "But what?"

 

"Both Agent Kuryakin and I have noticed slight changes in behavior. It's possible that the smoke is contaminated with a foreign substance. I brought it in for analysis and want to get myself checked out while I'm here."

 

Cruz nodded. "That's probably a good idea. What kind of behavior changes did you notice?" he asked.

 

Javier paused a moment, wondering if he should talk about having sex on duty or not. "An increased susceptibility to suggestion. Lack of focus on priorities. I don't really know how else to explain it. A strong desire for more. Almost like I'm addicted after sharing just one joint."

 

"So you are saying if I said you should go jump off a 5 story building you might do it?" Cruz asked.

 

"No. Nothing so drastic," he replied.

 

"Do you still feel like you are under the influence of whatever substance you were exposed to now?"

 

Javier scratched the side of his face as if the 2 day beard growth was making him itchy. "I don't think so but I don't know for sure."

 

"Where is this marijuana now?" Cruz asked.

 

"I gave it to Dr. Webber in the lab."

 

Cruz nodded. "I'll check in with him and I'd like to get some blood samples from you to see if you are still carrying it in your system." He wrote down a few notes and at the same time asked, "You say Agent Kuryakin may be exposed to this substance as well?"

 

Javier swallowed and then cleared his throat. "Yes. I believe so."

 

"I'll have to get him in here for some blood samples as well. Anyone else?" he asked.

 

"A number of the students. Kuryakin knows more of them than I do."

 

Cruz puckered his lips as he thought about this. "We'll have to set up some kind of cover to get blood samples from them. The more we can analyze, the more accurate our results can be." He jotted a few more notes. "I'll have to call Waverly on this."

 

"Waverly isn't here," Javier remarked.

 

"Of course. I mean Mr. Solo. He's in charge at the moment."

 

"I'm on my way there next. I can report if you like." Javier wasn't looking forward to that but it had to be done.

 

"Yes. Well we will both have to speak to Mr. Solo eventually." Cruz put down his pen. "First lets go draw some blood and get things started."

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

"Miss Rogers," Napoleon called through the intercom. "When Mr. Kuryakin calls in for his next report I want him to come in and report in person."

 

"Yes Mr. Solo. I'll contact the communications room right away," she said, sensing trouble ahead. "Anything else, sir?" she asked.

 

"Has Nancy completed her statement yet?" he replied.

 

"I'm just typing it up now."

 

Napoleon took a deep breath. "See to it that I get a copy right away."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

After cutting off the intercom, Napoleon sat back in his seat, thinking about what to do with the information he'd just been given. It looked more and more like he'd been right all along and Illya was not ready for the field. It was still a mystery as to why Waverly felt it prudent to put his partner back on active duty again. Especially without a familiar agent as back up.

 

Napoleon picked up the folder on the College Recruitment Affair and in a new section he began to make some notes. He paused to think carefully about each comment. It had to be accurate and devoid of personal and emotional inflection. As he wrote he found that he truly had to respect Waverly's talent for putting things in concise prose reflecting each detail of a case.

 

There had to be a way to put this in a way that the old man would see the prudence of pulling Illya from field duty. There were plenty of things that a talented scientific mind like Illya's could keep more than busy with. Placed full time in the lab would strengthen the blond man's skills and the sky would be the limit as to what he would come up with in terms of weapons and breakthroughs in THRUSH counter active agents against drugs and explosives.

 

The thought of Illya dying in the field bothered him more than anything. The knowledge that Illya had value elsewhere in UNCLE and, although he'd never admit it out loud to anyone, the value Illya had to him as well. Napoleon knew he couldn't bear it if what he saw as inevitable, Illya meeting his demise out there, ever happened.

 

Reading over his entries, Napoleon paused with his elbow on the desk and his head resting on his hand. It amazed him how Waverly, someone he admired and respected, could be so blatantly wrong about having Illya on this mission.

 

Napoleon found himself so totally absorbed with misgivings regarding this assignment that he totally lost track of time. An annoying buzzing began to interrupt his internal thoughts and after a while he found himself scrunching up his face at the irritating sound.

 

He looked at the phone panel and suddenly realized he was being paged. Quickly Napoleon sat up and cleared his throat which he could feel was strained from the clenched jaw. Then he pushed the reply button.

 

"Yes...ahem, Yes Miss Rogers?"

 

"Mr. Solo. I thought perhaps you had gone out via the back office," she said. Then she got right to the point. "I have Mr. Javier Ponce here. He'd like to give you a verbal report."

 

"Ponce?" Napoleon frowned. Ponce was supposed to be in the field with Illya, not hanging around at headquarters. "Send him in. See that we aren't interrupted," he instructed.

 

The huge wall doorway slid open and the slender Hispanic man entered Napoleon's presence. With a stern expression, Napoleon gestured to the chair across the table from him. The size of the office was intimidating enough but filled with Napoleon's scowl it was positively ominous.

 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Solo," Javier said, trying to sound bravely neutral.

 

"So Mr. Ponce. Report. I assume you are here and not in the field for a good reason," Napoleon said sounding as official as possible.

 

Javier nodded, unsure of whether he should actually sit down or if it had merely been an indication of where he should remain standing. "Yes, Mr. Solo," he replied while absent-mindedly rubbing the bandage over the spot where the needles withdrew his blood. "I brought in samples of marijuana to be analyzed. Mr. Kuryakin and I felt it may be contaminated or infused with a drug of some kind."

 

Napoleon dark-eyed gaze intensified. "And your reasoning for this is--?" he asked.

 

"Well...uh..." Javier began trying to figure out how to say that he and Illya suspected this because they ended up in bed again.

 

"Spit it out," Napoleon said, growing impatient. Just being in Javier Ponce's presence and knowing that Illya had a tryst with the man ate at his insides.

 

"Mr. Kuryakin," Javier explained keeping things on an official level, "and I had the marijuana in our possession. Johnny asked Illya...Mr. Kuryakin to take it back to the apartment with him after school yesterday."

 

"So if you thought it was tainted yesterday why didn't you bring it in then?"

 

Javier shook his head. "We weren't sure at the time." Javier looked as if he wasn't positive that was a lie or not but carried on with the report. "We thought we should sample it and then we got to talking. I think it affects will power and the power of suggestion."

 

Napoleon frowned. "What makes you think that?"

 

"Our conversation took a strange turn and we...."

 

"You what?" Napoleon said growing impatient.

 

Javier swallowed and decided to put it bluntly. "Illya and I ended up in bed together. He didn't leave till just before class today."

 

Napoleon was silent and just stared at him for a few moments as the burning under his collar rose slowly. He finally spoke, quietly at first. "Are you telling me the two of you smoked drugs together when unnecessary, then hopped into the sack together, spent the entire night together, and nearly blew his cover by delaying him on his scheduled destinations?"

 

Javier thought about it and nodded that it could be construed that way. "Yes, sir. That is why I brought the drugs in for testing. I reported to Dr. Cruz in Medical. He drew blood for testing and he wants to get samples drawn from Ill...er Mr. Kuryakin and the students, too."

 

Napoleon calmly sat down and pressed the intercom. "Miss Rogers. Have communications page Mr. Kuryakin and get him to report into UNCLE Headquarters STAT," he said emphasizing the urgency of his order. Then he terminated the connection and looked back up at Javier Ponce. "I want you to go to an office. Fill out a complete detailed report and then I want you to go pack up your things and get on the next flight to Puerto Rico." Napoleon's tone was cold and barely short of threatening. "Consider yourself lucky if I don't make notations in your permanent record about this."

 

"But what about Illya's... er... Mr. Kuryakin's backup?" Javier asked.

 

Each time Javier Ponce referred to Napoleon's partner in the familiar it aggravated him more. "That is not your concern any longer," Napoleon growled. "I suggest you leave now and get that report written before I decide to have you escorted out!"

 

It was probably the better part of valor, and swallowing his pride, that enabled Javier to turn and walk away while he still had a slight respect for Solo.

 

Napoleon slammed his hand on the intercom again as the door opened to allow Ponce to leave. "Lisa! Get Illya Kuryakin in here now!"


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile. I had to move and now I can't find anything. Anyway, enjoy.

If Illya had been in his right mind, he would have stormed to Stillwell's office and interrogated the man until he learned how a college professor heard about a story that he'd never told anyone--not even his adopted family. Illya was most definitely not in his right mind right now. A THRUSH agent could be stepping on his heels and he wouldn't notice. His mind twisted and twirled, thoughts, fears, and memories long buried bounced around in a mental tornado.

 

How had Stillwell learned of what happened to Illya at Baba Yar? He hadn't made purposeful eye contact or acted like he knew the boy whose experience he related was sitting right in his class. Yet he knew details that could have been found in only one place. The only way anyone could have learned about that traumatic experience was to have read it in a diary that just recently popped back up and he knew was in the hands of Alexander Waverly.

 

He had to get that diary. Now. Mission or no mission, he simply couldn't wait any longer.  

 

Illya's pen went off several times while he aimlessly walked, but in his present state of mind, he ignored it. If it was Napoleon, he'd know something was wrong and would demand to know why. Then Illya would have to lie to him, something he didn't like to do.

 

He suddenly found himself in front of the apartment he shared with Olaf and the others. At least part of his brain was still on the job. The rest of his brain was another story. He went inside to lay down on his bed to think. He would need a plan.

 

He'd no sooner opened the door to his bedroom when the apartment's phone rang. He left it for someone else to answer. It wasn't for him so he really didn't care if it never got picked up.

 

A minute later his bedroom door flew open. "Hey, man," boomed Olaf. "Phone call for ya."

 

Illya raised an eyebrow. "Me? Are you sure?"

 

"Yep. It's that Mexican guy you hang out with. Says it's important."

 

Mexican guy? What Mexican guy? Illya thought of the men of Mexican descent at headquarters. Only a couple and neither had a reason to call him. Confused--not too hard in his present state of mind--he went to pick it up. "Hello?" he asked warily.

 

"Illya! I'm glad I caught you."

 

Javier. Of course. "Oh, hello, Javier." He switched to Russian. He knew none of his roommates spoke it but Javier did. "Did you take that sample in?"

 

" _Si_ , and let me tell you I wish I hadn't."

 

"Why? What happened?" His heartbeat sped up with concern for his friend.

 

The Puerto Rican agent laughed bitterly. "Not much, _mi amigo_. Only the fact that I am no longer on the mission with you."

 

Illya blinked. "What? What do you mean?"

 

"I had to report to Napoleon again when I dropped off the marijuana sample. I told him we suspected something in the weed because we both felt we were acting a bit out of character. I don't think he really cared so much that we'd partaken in the grass. He blew his top when he asked for specifics, though. I had to tell him we'd slept together again. He read me the riot act, told me how unprofessional we were both being by indulging in sex while on a mission, then yanked me off the assignment."

 

Illya scowled. "Wait a minute. He called _us_ unprofessional?" he snarled, his anger at Napoleon spiking. This coming from the man who filled every single free moment of a mission with a liaison with one woman or another.

 

Javier paused, then blurted out angrily, "Look, Illya, you'll always be my _amigo_ , but I sure don't like to be used to make someone else jealous."

 

Illya's eyebrow shot up. "What are you talking about?"

 

"It's obvious there's something going on between you and Napoleon. I mean, he turns positively green with jealousy whenever he sees us just walking or talking together."

 

Illya's grit his teeth. "There's nothing between Napoleon and I." _Not anymore. Napoleon couldn't seem to accept that it was over, though._ "I'll talk to him and get you put back on."

 

"Forget it, _amigo._ I'm about to board a plane back to Puerto Rico. He told Lisa to book me on the very next flight and a Section 3 _Hijo de puta_ drove me straight to the airport. Said he'd ship my stuff to me from the apartment."

 

In the background Illya heard an announcement that the flight to Puerto Rico was boarding.

 

"I have to go, Illya. I just wanted to warn you so Solo can't blindside you with all this."

 

Illya unclenched his jaw long enough to say, "Thank you, Javier. I'm sure I'll see you again sometime."

 

Javier's chuckle sounded less strained this time. "If you and only you ever come to Puerto Rico, give me a call. If Napoleon is with you, forget I exist, okay?"

 

"Of course. Have a good flight." He hung up, anger replacing some of the confusion and fear from before. Napoleon had better have a damned good reason for taking Javier off the assignment.  

 

He wanted to storm down to headquarters and give Napoleon a piece of his mind. He had to keep his priorities straight, though. Unfortunately, that meant his assignment and his talk with Napoleon would have to wait until he could go for that diary.

 

No time for a detailed, well thought out plan. He would just have to fall back on some old but effective methods. He would pose as a repairman of some kind and break into Waverly's home. No one thought twice when they saw someone in what looked like an official uniform mucking about in a neighbor's backyard.

 

His pen went off again and he silenced it. Now that he knew for sure it was Napoleon and why he was calling, he didn't feel badly about ignoring it. Diary first. He'd deal with his partner and the fallout from his and Javier's sexual relationship later.

 

He hopped the subway to the station that would put him closest to headquarters. Since he had a hand in the security measures there, he knew how to get through them. He didn't, however, have a key so he would have to pick the lock. If he blew it with one of their gadgets, Security would know it was someone from the inside.

 

Once in headquarters, he headed straight for the wardrobe department thinking of everything he would need to throw together a fast disguise.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Fear gripped Napoleon more each time Illya's communicator went unanswered. Maybe he'd acted a bit too hastily when he'd sent Ponce packing. Now Illya could be in trouble and he had no backup. All he wanted to do was run down to that damned campus and find his partner but he couldn't because he was chained to this damned DESK!

 

He slammed a hand down and jumped out of his chair and stalked to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. He didn't really want it but he needed something to do. Something to keep his mind off of what might be happening to Illya.

 

He was an idiot for taking Ponce off the assignment without replacing him with someone else first. He did exactly what he'd gotten so angry at Waverly about. Left Illya out there with no one to watch his back and keep him safe.

 

"Damn it!" he snarled, angry at himself more than anything. He'd let his jealousy make a rookie mistake and Illya was out there paying for it. That was it. He simply couldn't sit here and do nothing. He called down to Communications. "Has Kuryakin's distress beacon been activated?" he barked with impatience.

 

"Let me check." A pause. "No beacon and it doesn't appear to be inoperative."

 

Napoleon's fear for his friend spiked. "Let me know the moment he calls in."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

He hung up the phone and shoved his chair back. That was the last straw. Napoleon was going to go find his friend. He stopped at Lisa's desk on his way out. "Is Johnson in the building?" he asked. Johnson was the next senior agent after Illya so he could take over for the moment.

 

Lisa looked at her check-in board. "Afraid not."

 

Napoleon's jaw clenched. "Who is the most senior agent here right now."

 

"That would be Illya."

 

Solo's heart dropped into his shoes. When it came back up it beat with a fury Napoleon had never before experienced. "Illya's here?"

 

"According to my board he checked in about thirty minutes ago. Want me to find him?"

 

"Yes," Napoleon ground out. "And when you do, send Security down to escort him to me."

 

Lisa stared at him wide-eyed. "Uh, yes, sir."

 

He spun on his heel and stalked back into his office to plot what kind of hell he would bring down on Illya's infuriating blond head.

 

A few minutes later, Lisa entered the office. Her expression was a combination of regret, concern, and even a little fear that would have been humorous if Napoleon didn't know she was about to give him some unwelcome news.

 

"We didn't find Illya before he left," she said. "Wardrobe says he grabbed a serviceman's uniform before he left. He also checked out one of the service vans but didn't tell anyone where he was going or what he was doing."

 

He wanted to lash out at her. To berate her for letting him get away. He swallowed his ire knowing it wasn't directed at her and that giving her the anger he had towards Illya would do nothing more than alienate her. He gave Lisa a tight smile. "If he returns, have him cuffed and brought up here. Otherwise, have a couple of agents masquerade as police officers and wait for him at his college apartment in case he shows up there. Have them arrest him on drug charges. Send a couple of agents to his regular apartment, too. He'll have to show up sooner or later."

 

Her eyes widened at the net he was throwing out for one agent. "Uh, yes, sir." She left quickly, wariness now added to the mix in her expression.


	26. Chapter 26

Illya took a roundabout way to Waverly's neighborhood. He'd heard of the manhunt going on for him at headquarters and managed to slip away before Napoleon could catch up with him. Just in case he hadn't gotten away as clean as he thought, he made sure no one followed him before heading for his destination.

The early October evening was crisp with crunchy leaves lining the roadway of the old neighborhood. A damp chill hinted that the Indian summer was over and Fall took hold with both hands. The driveway leading to Waverly's home was lined with hedges and decorative brickwork. Most of the blossoms in the flower beds looked brown and wilted and would soon be dug under for next years plantings.

He parked in front of Waverly's home, a well-maintained, older Victorian house. English ivy crept up the sides of the house and what was left of the roses graced the area in front of the porch. It was a lovely old home, one he'd been to many times as Alice, Waverly's wife, had made it her goal to fatten him up. He felt a pang of nostalgia and sorrow at the thought of Waverly's now dead wife. He thought he might have felt as sad at her passing as her husband.

He took a deep breath, grabbed his tool bag and a clipboard, and headed for the back of the house. To any neighbors, he would look like a repairman doing his job. He stopped at the electric box and bypassed the security easily, disabling alarms and setting the cameras into a loop. The hardest part was doing it in such a way it wouldn't show as a breach back at headquarters. Luckily, since he'd helped design the system, it wasn't hard to circumvent it. Napoleon's CEA duties had to do with the agents themselves--scheduling, evaluations and the like. The main duty of Number 2 of Section 2 was to oversee the security of Waverly's home. The head of Security took care of the day-to-day scheduling, but it was Illya's responsibility to okay everything. Because of his science background, he had taken it a step beyond and designed the system himself. 

Security now off, he opened the gate of the privacy fence and slipped in. Alice's hand could be seen here in the explosion of flowers. Roses dominated the mix, the plants all arranged to create a pleasing aesthetic. Interspaced with trinkets and photographs, Alice turned the opulent house to a truly comfortable home.

The only barrier he had now was the lock on the door. He knew it was a very good one, chosen specifically because of how difficult it was to pick. Again, his work on this particular home aided him. When they chose this lock, he'd seen it as a challenge--and good spycraft--to learn how to open it with more mundane means than their usual zapping. Never knew when one would have only a wire or hairpin to get a lock open. 

He had more than that this time and he pulled out his lockpicks and got to work. It took him almost five minutes to disengage the locks. Far too long. He'd need to practice on it again. He slipped inside and secured it behind him. Now he just had to find the damned diary.

The kitchen brought another wave of nostalgia as he remembered helping Alice prepare the meals she made her husband invite his Russian agent to partake in. It was always so warm and inviting. It looked a bit different now, many of Alice's homey touches no longer in evidence. What was once a cozy kitchen where you could snack on homemade cookies right off the counter was now more of a servant's work zone. Alice no longer lived here. 

He pushed the sorrow down into that part of himself where he imprisoned such things and brought his mind back to the task at hand. He needed to find that diary and he only had . .. . he looked at his watch . . . an hour and three minutes to do it. They had a random schedule of actual security checks. He didn't set the schedule himself but he had to sign off on it every week so he knew what it was. 

The most logical place for Waverly to put the book was in his safe. With his intimate knowledge of the Waverly home, he made a beeline for the den. He disabled the secondary alarm on the painting that covered the safe before swinging the large Francis Bacon original on its hidden hinges. Waverly knew the artist personally and the man had painted this specifically for him.

Luckily, for this task Illya was able to use one of their gadgets to help him figure out the combination. Even so it took him almost thirty-five minutes to get it opened. He sighed in relief when it finally clicked and unlocked. He opened it, deliberately not looking at any of the no-doubt sensitive and/or personal documents inside. He carefully searched for the tattered old book he remembered writing into almost every night. 

He ruthlessly swallowed a moan of dismay when he didn't find it. He didn't have time to worry about where the damned thing wasn't. He had to move fast to find out where it WAS. He made sure the contents looked undisturbed then closed and spun the combination wheel on the safe before moving the painting back. 

He sped through the house, again being careful not to leave anything out of place, checking everywhere he thought it might be. Bedside tables, locked desk--that one was easy to manipulate--absolutely everywhere he could think of. 

Nothing. No surprise. The chances of Waverly leaving something like that anywhere but locked up tightly in his safe was very slim. Where the hell was it? Another glance at his watch. Time was up. No time to think about it now. He left the way he'd come in, locked everything, and re-engaged the security systems. Everything back the way it was when he started, he jumped in the van and drove off with only four minutes to spare.

The drive back to headquarters gave him some time to ponder the only other place Waverly might have hidden the diary. Only one place more secure than the safe at the house. A place almost impossible to get into, at least for him. More likely he could fly to the moon easier than he could get into Waverly's bank safety deposit box.

<><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon sent a man over to Javier Ponce's little barren apartment near the campus to make sure he was gone and collect the UNCLE equipment as well as the few personal belongings left behind. All was reported well in that regard. There was no sign of Illya. 

Propping one elbow on the desk and placing his chin in his palm, Napoleon wondered what Illya would be doing with a service man's uniform. It must have something to do with the mission, he thought, or why would he have taken it? What disturbed him was that Illya didn't report what he was up to. That made it impossible to arrange to have back up available. Once again, he almost regretted sending Ponce away early.

Angrily, Napoleon slammed his hand down on the intercom. 

The sound was audible to Lisa even without the speaker on her desk. "Uh... Yes, Mr. Solo?" she replied after the initial fright.

"Illya hasn't reported in yet, has he?" Napoleon stated more than asked.

"No, sir. Nothing. And he isn't answering the page we're putting out." she replied. "Do you want me to send out some agents to find him?"

Napoleon was about to say yes but then took a breath and thought maybe he was too anxious about it. Of course he was anxious about it! He had to cool his impulses, though, before someone started to notice. Lisa may already have come to some conclusions. He needed to nip that in the bud. "No. But have him report to me directly when he comes back. If I'm not here, call me right away."

"Yes sir. Where can I reach you?" she inquired, pen in hand.

"Home and then out to dinner. I have a promise to keep," he said. "I'll be available by communicator regardless."

Lisa made a note for herself and bid him good night.

<><><><><><><><><>

Neither man spent a relaxing night. 

Napoleon kept his date with Nancy, a lovely lady dressed to lure any red blooded American into bed. Used to taking advantage of the opportunities presented to him, the suave, dashing agent had full intention of having a romantic dinner and then spending a fun night of sexual adventure in the woman's bed. Unfortunately, with his mind preoccupied with the situation of Illya's bizarre field behavior, he found the food unappetizing, the company unbearable, and the thought of sex that evening terrifying. He knew in his present state of mind that he wouldn't be able to perform. He took a deep breath and tried to make a go of an already bad evening.

<><><><><><><><>

Illya was relieved that Napoleon had already left by the time he sneaked in with the van to return it. Although he took back the UNCLE van, he signed it in with the garage attendant, Joey, and asked him to send the uniform back to wardrobe. He and Napoleon did that sort of thing all the time so Joey wouldn't think a thing of it. That way, he avoided going into the building and any standing order Napoleon may have left in regards to him. He took a taxi back to the campus grounds and walked over to the apartment building.

“Psst!”

Illya looked around for the loud hissing sound. In the darkness he could see a hulking figure behind the thick pine near the street sign. He whispered back, “Olaf?”

“Dima. Come here,” the big Swede said as quietly as his naturally loud voice would let him. “Hurry,” he said waving him over as if getting out of sight was important.

Illya looked around and dashed over cautiously. “What is it? Why are you out here?”

The big fellow's hand grasped him by the shoulder and pulled him into the hidden recess of the bushes. “You are in trouble man,” he said. “The police were here looking for you. They took your things.”

“What? Why?” Illya asked.

“Dima, my man. They must think you've been selling stuff. Drugs maybe.” Olaf looked around again and then ducked down and whispered some more. “Johnny said you had the stuff.”

The marijuana. He'd left it in his desk at headquarters. “Uh. I did,” he said, thinking up a quick excuse. They shouldn't be smoking the stuff, anyway. “I think you may be right. I... I had to curb it.” he said.

“Curb it?” Olaf said, confused.

“Uh... you know. Throw it in the side of the road.”

“Oh. You mean ditched it. Got yah,” he replied. “That was probably a good idea. But you can't stay here now. We could all get expelled if the dean finds out. I'm sorry, man.”

“I understand. I'll get my things,” he told him without complaint.

“Nothing there, man. Like I said, cops took everything.”

Illya nodded. “I'll look after things. You and the others keep out of it." He thought about Johnny. What if something happened? He felt Johnny might need a friend and Illya was the only one he truly had right now. What if the boy needed to get hold of him? "Do me a favor, Olaf." He pulled a little notebook and pen from his book bag and wrote down his home phone number. "Give this to Johnny. Tell him to call me if he needs me."

Olaf looked confused but took the paper. He stared at it and then shrugged before pushing it into his jeans pocket. "Sure, man. You can count on me."   
Illya hoped so. That was the best he could do for now. "Thank you. I'll see you later," he said. With a little wave goodbye, he hurried off.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only posting one chapter today so I made it a little long. Thank you to all who have given kudos, favorited, and commented so far.

The music was nice and the wine excellent. Napoleon politely listened as Nancy made small talk throughout the meal. After dessert he indulged her wish to go dancing but feigned a headache and begged her pardon for ending the night early. Being the wealthy playboy reputation type, he got her some flowers and called a cab, which he paid for, to take her home. He gave her an appreciative, but noncommittal, kiss to say goodnight as he saw her on her way. Then he had the valet get his car and he drove by Illya's apartment on the way home.

 

It was dark with no sign of life as Napoleon parked around the corner and watched the apartment from a distance. He waited and hoped to see a light come on or find Illya walking along the street on his way home. For over an hour he sat there until the chilly October night forced him to start the engine to warm up. Eventually he decided that Illya couldn't avoid him forever and tomorrow morning at UNCLE would be the inevitable face to face. The minute his erstwhile partner found out his apartment was cleared out, even he would get it through his stubborn head that the mission was over and it was time for all good little spies to come in from the cold.

 

Napoleon pulled his coat up tighter around his neck and drove away despondently.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Very late, Illya Kuryakin returned by bus and then walked the last block to his apartment, missing Napoleon by minutes. He was dejected at his failure to find the dreaded diary that had come back to haunt him from half way around the world. The book, once his salvation that kept a part of him safe from dwelling on the evil surroundings in his young life, was now an enemy. A piece of him to be feared and destroyed. Where and how was the problem.

 

Illya walked the stairs up to his third floor residence. He could hear the TV in Mrs. Payne's place. The old lady never seemed to sleep and he didn't want a confrontation with her tonight. In his present mood he just might kill her, if only to make himself feel better.

 

As if on a mission he sneaked by her door, careful not to make a noise on the stairs, skipping the first step because of how it creaked. Near the second floor landing Illya could smell the stale beer coming from the apartment where the alcoholic lived. The guy seemed to guzzle whatever money his long suffering wife didn't use for rent or food.

 

Once Illya reached the third floor and his tiny place, he let himself in and reset the extra locks. He sat on his ragged second hand sofa and ran a hand through what he still felt was too short, flaxen hair, too tired to think. Stress, especially around Napoleon, kept him from thinking straight lately and it worried him. All manner of possibilities ran through his head. He tried not to imagine the worst of them: Expulsion back to the Soviet Union. Their torture techniques--and they would torture him, of that he had no doubt--made THRUSH's feel like child's play. He'd decided long ago he'd put a bullet in his own brain before he let himself be shipped back to his homeland. He loved his countrymen, the land, the language, the food, but not _that_ much. A wonderful place to visit but he never again wanted to live there.

 

Miserable with recent events, Illya didn't bother to eat. He sighed and went to bed. Without undressing, he lay on the mattress and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Tired as he was he still couldn't close his eyes. Eventually, he fell asleep, only to be awoken by the ringing of his phone.

 

Illya groaned as he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the front room to answer it. "Hello?" He never answered his home phone with his name. Very few people he wanted to talk to knew the number and he didn't want anyone else to know his name.

 

"Dima?" said a young man, his voice edged with hysteria.

 

"This is he."

 

"It's Johnny. I-I'm sorry to call you so late, but, well, I didn't know who else to turn to."

 

"It's fine, Johnny. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

 

Johnny gave a strangled laugh. "Yes No. I'm not sure."

 

"Tell me." Illya didn't bother using his exaggerated accent.

 

"My dad. My dad met with David last night and he signed on with my dad's company. I was right outside the door, but they didn't know it and I stayed to listen to what they were saying. Dima." Johnny's cracked in what sounded like a broken sob. "I think David told my dad I betrayed him! I think--I think . . ."

 

"Take a deep breath, Johnny." Illya waited until the young man did so. "Now tell me the rest."

 

"My dad was furious. He just believed David without question! What kind of father does that sort of thing?"

 

"A bad one."

 

"Dima, I think he's going to kill me," Johnny whispered. "I just . . . He's going to kill me."

 

"Johnny, listen very carefully to me. Where are you?"

 

Johnny's breath hitched. "Pay phone. Outside that diner you like to eat at."

 

"Stay out of sight, but stay there. I'm going to have someone go get you. You'll be able to trust them. Don't show yourself unless they tell you Dima sent them. Got that?"

 

Johnny repeated it. "Y-yeah."

 

"I'm going to hang up now and call them. Just be careful."

 

"I will. And, Dima?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Thanks."

 

"You're welcome. Stay safe."

 

He hung up and grabbed his communicator to call for someone to go pick up the young man. His little spat with Napoleon and previous need to stay off the acting Chief's radar fell by the wayside in his need to keep anything from happening to Johnny.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

The advent of morning and sunny clear skies did nothing for Napoleon's growing anger over Illya Kuryakin's recent behaviors. He stormed into UNCLE surrounded by a palpable cloud of tension.

 

He overlooked the greeting the check in girl and cut straight to the point. "Has Illya Kuryakin shown up yet?"

 

"Er... no sir," she replied, handing him his badge. She normally pinned it on Napoleon personally but today she had the feeling he might bite her if she got too close.

 

He clutched the badge so tightly the plastic permanently creased as he fumed through the corridors to Waverly's office for his morning update. One week till the Old Man was back behind the massive desk, a job Napoleon was sure wasn't suited for him anymore. The years being groomed for the position now left a sour note in his mind when he thought of being the eventual Head of the New York office.

 

As he reached the huge office, that also served as a meeting room, department heads had already gathered for the morning staff meeting and reports. Napoleon stopped briefly and let out a long breath. He wanted to deal with Illya first but that would break with standard protocols in place. For now he would have to stick to the schedule and Illya would have to wait.

 

Just as that thought went through his mind while he walked around the room to get to his place and exchanged greetings with the others gathered, Lisa Rogers rushed up to his side and whispered. “Mr. Kuryakin is just signing in.”

 

Napoleon stopped and was about to say - _have him report to me now_ \- but paused to think a moment first. “Tell Mr. Kuryakin,” he said almost gritting his teeth, “to report to security for debriefing. Then call ahead and have Vickers escort him to interrogation room 3. Hold him there until I come down.”

 

 

It was an unusual order that made Lisa cringe internally. “Yes, Mr. Solo.” She hurried out of the office and pushed the button to close the doors behind her.

 

<><><><><><><>

 

A phone rang behind Illya at the reception desk as he left and hurried for Waverly's office. He didn't want to talk to his partner but Johnny's well-being took precedence over his disagreements with Napoleon. The acting chief of North America had plenty to answer for, such as why he sent Javier packing and why the hell he closed down the investigation at such a critical juncture. He saw no reason except for Napoleon's jealousy and that had to end.

 

"Mr. Kuryakin!" a woman called, the ratta-tat-tat of high heels moving swiftly across the hard floor coming up from behind him.

 

He stopped and turned to wait for the receptionist he'd just left. "Yes, Miranda?"

 

She smiled and blushed slightly at being remembered by the exotic agent. "You're to report to Security for debriefing."

 

Illya frowned in confusion. "Security? Not Mr. Waverly's office?"

 

She shook her head. "No, sir. Lisa specifically said Security."

 

"Very well. Thank you." He gave her a nod and continued down the corridor towards the elevator. Once in the small car, he punched in the number for the lower floor that housed Security and, consequently, the interrogation rooms. He wondered if, and how, Napoleon found out about David already.

 

Maybe the results on the marijuana came back and Napoleon had David picked up for questioning. If so, it explained why Napoleon sent Javier packing and why he, Illya, discovered himself pulled from the mission. He relaxed in relief. He had feared his former lover did all that out of jealousy. His mood lightened with the knowledge that Napoleon had a good explanation.

 

Vickers waited for him as Illya stepped off the elevator. "Good morning, Mr. Kuryakin," he said.

 

The closed expression on the security man's face made Illya nervous. Vickers was a pro at smoothing his face into blankness when necessary. Under normal circumstances, though, Vickers would not feel the need to show that blank look to one of his comrades.

 

"Good morning, Mr. Vickers," Illya replied warily. "Am I to question the boy I've been investigating, then?"

 

The man's mouth turned down as he tried to keep a look of what Illya thought might be dismay off his face. "Mr. Solo would like for you to meet him in Interrogation Room 3."

 

Illya didn't care for the fact the other man had not answered his question. Vickers waved him to go first. Illya's sense of disquiet grew as he led the way down to the Interrogation block. He stepped into room 3 and stopped. "Will Napoleon be here soon?"

 

"He has a meeting at the moment. He'll be here as soon as he can," Vickers said. He moved to stand beside Illya and gestured towards the table set in the room. The table ran parallel to a mirrored window. Instead of three chairs like one would expect if he and Napoleon interrogated one of the boys together, only two sat arranged at the table. One faced the mirrored observation window that made up most of one wall of the room while the other had its back to it. Illya started for the one facing away from the glass.

 

Vickers cleared his throat. "Um, please sit in the other chair."

 

Illya spun to stare at him. "Pardon me?"

 

Vickers' mask fell, apology written on his face. "I'm sorry, Illya, but I need you to sit in the other chair. Please," he added at Illya's glare. "I don't want this anymore than you do, but I can't go against orders."

 

"Of course not," Illya snarked through clenched teeth. The Russian held tight to his resentment--he'd save that for Napoleon--and stepped around the table to sit in the chair reserved for prisoners. Illya schooled his own expression into one of complete apathy and sat down. He couldn't hold it, though, when he heard the jingle of the manacles attached to the chair arms click over his wrists. He stared at his bound arms in shock. When he felt Vickers' hands on his ankle a second before he heard the click of the lock closing around it, the beginnings of panic twisted his gut.

 

_"Now, Subject 437," a slick, oily voice said in Russian. It belonged with the recently dredged up memories Illya thought he'd finally reburied. Like a snake resisting hibernation, it returned with a vengeance and slithered through his mind. "We will discover just how well you hold up to interrogation."_

 

Vickers blessedly shattered the moment. "I'm truly sorry, Illya. But my orders--"

 

"The hell with orders!" Illya snapped as he fought to hold the panic at bay. "You don't treat a comrade-in-arms like this without a damned good reason! What is Solo's damned good reason for this?" He yanked hard at his bindings, the metal cuffs digging into his skin. It didn't break through the top layer but if he kept it up it would only be a matter of time.

 

"Mr. Solo is the Acting Head of North America," Vickers replied in a cool tone. He stepped back. "I have to assume his reasons are good ones."

 

"And they call me an automaton. You'd do very well in the KGB," Illya sneered.

 

Vickers wordlessly turned his back on Illya and left the room with steady--if rapid--steps. The door closed behind him, leaving Illya alone with his resurging memories.

 

A knot of fear threatened to choke him as the visions of Kopf, KGB psychologists, and now Napoleon, Vickers, and U.N.C.L.E. swirled through his head. Winding, twisting, interlocking like the pieces of a dark, sick puzzle. Illya thought of the damned diary and added Waverly to the mix.

 

Where had he lost his vaunted control? _I haven't_ , he told himself sternly. _I'm just letting others convince me I have._ He ruthlessly asserted that control now, crushing the fear and intimidation into a little ball and shoving it down into the dungeon for such things that he'd created as a child. Locked it behind a door forged of his iron will. Then he opened the cage where he stored his anger and let it explode into freedom.

 

Illya had a temper and often let his irritation and ire peek out. He seldom allowed people to see his true anger, its depths far too frightening even to him to allow it to roam free. It reflected the darkness of his soul, a part of himself that he hated even as he embraced it. When he did release it, he was never sure just how it would manifest. Sometimes it erupted in bouts of white hot rage. This time it pelted through him like the fury of the worst blizzards of Siberia. It ran through his veins and iced his blood. Rebuilt the thick walls around his heart that Napoleon had once melted. The suave American would not be able to do so again. Napoleon would answer for this.

 

If Napoleon thought Illya was going to sit here quietly and meekly while waiting for the "acting head of North America" to decide to grace him with his presence, the man had another thing coming. With grim determination, Illya started working on ridding himself of the cuffs.


End file.
